Chamberlains, enter from the dining-room, with HIALMAR
EKDAL, who writhes shyly under their remarks._

_A Chamberlain_. As we are the sole surviving specimens of Norwegian
nobility, suppose we sustain our reputation as aristocratic sparklers
by enlarging upon the enormous amount we have eaten, and chaffing
HIALMAR EKDAL, the friend of our host's son, for being a professional
Photographer?

[Illustration: "Father, a word with you in private. I loathe you!"]

_The other Chamberlains_. Bravo! We will.

[_They do; delight of HIALMAR. Old WERLE comes in, leaning
on his Housekeeper's arm, followed by his son, GREGERS
WERLE._

_Old Werle_ (_dejectedly_). Thirteen at table! (_To_ GREGERS, _with
a meaning glance at_ HIALMAR.) This is the result of inviting an old
College friend who has turned Photographer! Wasting vintage wines on
_him_, indeed!

[_He passes on gloomily._

_Hialmar_ (_to Gregers_). I am almost sorry I came. Your old min is
_not_ friendly. Yet he set me up as a Photographer fifteen years ago.
_Now_ he takes me down! But for him, I should never have married GINA,
who, you may remember, was a servant in your family once.

_Gregers_. What? my old College friend married fifteen years ago--and