Say what you will, I call that cowardly. ROBERT. And then—If it is! Sooner or later, you will come to think as I do. Father himself had at last got to that standpoint. Father and you, you are as alike as two peas. You are both idealists of the same sort. In ’38 father started on the barricades, and he finishes up as a hypochondriacal hermit—One must get accustomed to the world and to oneself _in time_, that’s the thing; before one has finished sowing one’s wild oats. WILLIAM. Or else work at oneself, to become something different. ROBERT. I think I see myself! What I am, I am. I have the right to _be_, whatever I am. WILLIAM. Then claim your right openly. ROBERT. Not I, for I mean to _have_ it. The Philistine morality-mongers are in the majority at present. Anyhow it’s time for me to be off. And if I were to offer you a bit of advice, it would be, beware of so-called good intentions! WILLIAM (_coldly_). How do you mean? ROBERT. Simply that; it’s no use to think of accomplishing something which entirely contradicts one’s whole natural bent. WILLIAM. As, for instance? ROBERT. Oh!—for instance, fellows come to me sometimes, who babble ideals to me till my head swims. Fight for the ideals of humanity, and—God knows what all! I—fight for other people!—Childish!—Why, and what for? But _you_, that just suits you. You would rush round like a runaway thief. “What a wretch I have been,” you would keep on telling yourself! Aren’t I right? Well, and then on the top would come the good intentions, and they get hold of you, I know. _I_ used to go about hung round with hundreds of those good intentions—for years together—and it’s not pleasant, I can tell you. WILLIAM. I don’t really know what you are driving at. ROBERT. Nothing very definite. This unrest, from which you are suffering now, has no doubt other causes—At least I—if I once noticed—there was a time when I went through something of the sort, but once I noticed that the business was likely to be stronger than I—I generally made short work of it, and turned my back. WILLIAM. Is that a hint? ROBERT. Hint? I didn’t know—well, once more—good luck to you and— WILLIAM. But just tell me—it has a certain objective interest for me—only because— ROBERT. Pray, what do you want to know? WILLIAM. Just now you said something. ROBERT. How—just now? WILLIAM. When we were speaking of father. ROBERT. Ah, true, yes;—what did I say? WILLIAM. You said, it might perhaps turn out well for Ida and me. ROBERT. Ah, yes, your engagement;—was that what I said? WILLIAM. That’s what you said. ROBERT. H’m, I said many things. WILLIAM. That is to say, you have changed your mind about a good deal of what you said. ROBERT. Quite true, so I have. WILLIAM. And even—about that—very thing— ROBERT. Your engagement? WILLIAM. Yes. ROBERT. It’s important to you? WILLIAM. Yes, perhaps. ROBERT. Yes. WILLIAM. You no longer think—that we— ROBERT. No. WILLIAM.