[_Ida kisses him silently on the mouth, then goes into the next room. William looks after her, stands still, shows fright and astonishment in his face, and strikes his forehead, like one who has detected himself on the track of an evil thought. Meantime, Robert has come downstairs. Robert, his hat in his right hand, overcoat and rug over his arm, rug straps in his left hand, goes to the table and lays his things down on it._ WILLIAM (_after he has watched him a moment or two_). Where are you going? ROBERT. Away. WILLIAM. Now? ROBERT. Why not? (_spreading out his straps_) I’ve had enough of this and to spare. In future mother—mother will celebrate Christmas without me! (_Looks round at stove_) It’s cold here. WILLIAM. It’s freezing outside. ROBERT (_rolling up his rug_). There!—Is it? It was thawing about ten o’clock. WILLIAM. There’s a change. ROBERT. How’s one to get down the mountain and keep one’s footing? WILLIAM. There’s a fine moon. ROBERT. Yes, but still— WILLIAM. He’s not delirious any longer. ROBERT. H’m, h’m! WILLIAM. He won’t have a doctor. ROBERT. H’m, h’m! WILLIAM. It’s all come so suddenly, one hardly— ROBERT. H’m, yes! WILLIAM. It must have been latent in him. ROBERT. Of course, or he would not have come home. WILLIAM. I dread to think what’ll come of it. ROBERT. What’s one to do? WILLIAM. On my soul, I don’t know what _I_ should do if he died. Conscious as I am, knowing what I now know!—I really did not know, and _now_ the added remorse, the gnawing of conscience! Ah! well, what’s the use of it all? ROBERT. Eh! as to that! one would have enough to do. The old fellow is different, not what we imagined, that’s true enough! But that doesn’t change matters. WILLIAM. I tell you, it is sacred earnest to me—I would lay down this pitiful life of mine gladly, if it would do him any good. ROBERT. To my thinking, there’s no sense in that. Now just look here! I go back to my hot little den of an office, sit with my back to the fire, cross my legs under the table, light this same old pipe, and write—in peace and quietness of mind, I hope—the same old jokes, you know them,—the old chestnuts—African traveller—nearly spent—h’m, and then I generally bring along a caravan, which takes the article along with it.—My chief is well satisfied, it gets copied in as many papers as possible—and, the main thing is that—! Well, I sit there, and the gas jet hisses over my head all day—a glance now and then into the court—the courtyard of a warehouse like that has something marvellous about it—something even romantic, I can tell you—in a word I’m not troubled with any bees in _my_ bonnet. WILLIAM. Rather be dead once for all. ROBERT. Matter of taste!—For me, that’s just an ideal nook—Is one to be always getting shaken off one’s balance, always letting oneself be driven crazy?—It’ll take me a good two or three days now to pick up my scattered philosophy. WILLIAM.