Father, you strike _me_, you beat _me_! DR SCHOLZ. Please! please, please help me. [_Ida appears at the door of the room, deathly white._ WILLIAM (_rushes to his father, puts his arms round him again_). Strike _me_! DR SCHOLZ (_sinking on a chair with William’s arms still round him_). I—ah—ah—a—ah! I think—it’s—all over—with me. WILLIAM. Father! [_Mrs Scholz and Augusta seize one another in terror. Robert, deathly white, has not moved. His face has an expression of unshakable determination._ ACT III Twilight. All lights are extinguished except a few on the chandelier, and one on the Christmas tree. In front, near the stove, William sits at the table, his back towards the adjoining room, sunk in dreary hopeless meditation. Robert and Mrs Scholz enter together from next room. MRS SCHOLZ (_looking worn out, in lowered tones_). No, my boy, don’t tell me! Now there’s no knowing what next. As soon as trouble comes—Then, ah well! ROBERT. You’re not alone now, mother. MRS SCHOLZ. Ah, just listen to you! You know better. It’s too absurd. Where can you be off to in the middle of the night! ROBERT. Oh, there are always trains and I _must_ go. I really can’t stand it any longer; besides, it’s best for all of us! MRS SCHOLZ (_whimpering_). These last years it has always been pleasant. And now they’ve come back!—Since those Buchners came, everything’s turned upside down. ROBERT. Be glad that you have them, mother. MRS SCHOLZ. Oh, I could have managed quite well by myself. ROBERT. Father seems able to bear none of us about him—? MRS SCHOLZ (_crying_). Just as if I had done him any harm! Surely I have always been the same—I have always done my best—Do be just, Robert!—I have cooked him his hot dinners, he’s had his warm stockings— ROBERT. Ah, leave it alone, mother! What good is this everlasting lamentation? MRS SCHOLZ. Yes, that’s what you say. It’s all very well for you! But if you have worried yourself sick all your life—if one has beaten one’s brain to know:—Have I done _this_ right? have I done _that_ right?—and then strange people come, and one sees them preferred! ROBERT. Ida is with him still? MRS SCHOLZ. A perfect stranger!—Ah, I might as well be dead—and that lump!—that Friebe!—Creature!—The airs he gives himself!—But Gussie’s let him have it!—Gussie talked to him pretty straight! The fellow’s as impudent—he wanted to push her out of the room. The girl was beside herself!—His own daughter! No—You children! What my life has been!—I wouldn’t wish a dog to lead it. ROBERT _(with a little sigh, involuntarily_). Father too! MRS SCHOLZ. What? ROBERT. Oh, nothing. I only said, father too. MRS SCHOLZ. What about him? ROBERT. Well, father too has had a good deal to bear. MRS SCHOLZ. Well not from me, anyhow. I haven’t troubled him much. I’ve made no very great claims. ROBERT (_sceptically_). Hja—tja—tja! MRS SCHOLZ.