make good the mistake now.

Ellida. Yes, you've spoken a sad truth. And I think men
instinctively feel something of this themselves. And they bear it
about with them as a secret regret and sorrow. Believe me--herein
lies the deepest cause for the sadness of men. Yes, believe me,
in this.

Arnholm. But, my dearest Mrs. Wangel, I have not observed that
men are so extremely sad. It seems to me, on the contrary, that
most of them take life easily and pleasantly--and with a great,
quiet, unconscious joy.

Ellida. Oh! no, it is not so. The joy is, I suppose, something
like our joy at the long pleasant summer days--it has the
presentiment of the dark days coming. And it is this presentiment
that casts its shadows over the joy of men, just as the driving
clouds cast their shadow over the fjords. It lies there so bright
and blue--and of a sudden.

Arnholm. You shouldn't give way to such sad thoughts. Just now
you were so glad and so bright.

Ellida. Yes, yes, so I was. Oh, this--this is so stupid of me.
(Looking about her uneasily.) If only Wangel would come! He
promised me so faithfully he would. And yet he does not come.
Dear Mr. Arnholm, won't you try and find him for me?

Arnholm. Gladly!