Good. Then let me take Erhart with me---- MRS. BORKMAN. Erhart? My own son? My child? ELLA RENTHEIM. Yes; for then I would go straight home again. MRS. BORKMAN. [After reflecting a moment, firmly.] Erhart himself shall choose between us. ELLA RENTHEIM. [Looking doubtfully and hesitatingly at her.] He choose? Dare you risk that, Gunhild? MRS. BORKMAN. [With a hard laugh.] Dare I? Let my boy choose between his mother and you? Yes, indeed I dare! ELLA RENTHEIM. [Listening.] Is there some one coming? I thought I heard---- MRS. BORKMAN. Then it must be Erhart. [There is a sharp knock at the door leading in from the hall, which is immediately opened. MRS. WILTON enters, in evening dress, and with outer wraps. She is followed by THE MAID, who has not had time to announce her, and looks bewildered. The door remains half open. MRS. WILTON is a strikingly handsome, well-developed woman in the thirties. Broad, red, smiling lips, sparkling eyes. Luxuriant dark hair. MRS. WILTON. Good evening, my dearest Mrs. Borkman! MRS. BORKMAN. [Rather drily.] Good evening, Mrs. Wilton. [To THE MAID, pointing toward the garden-room.] Take the lamp that is in there and light it. [THE MAID takes the lamp and goes out with it. MRS. WILTON. [Observing ELLA RENTHEIM.] Oh, I beg your pardon--you have a visitor. MRS. BORKMAN. Only my sister, who has just arrived from----