Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 100, April 4, 1891

A Room tastefully filled with cheap Art-furniture. Gimcracks in an étagère; a festoon of chenille monkeys hanging from the gaselier. Japanese fans, skeletons, cotton-wool spiders, frogs, and lizards, scattered everywhere about. Drain-pipes with tall dyed grasses. A porcelain stove decorated with transferable pictures. Showily-bound books in book-case. Window. The Visitors' bell rings in the hall outside. The hall-door is heard to open, and then to shut. Presently NORA walks in with parcels; a Porter carries a large Christmas-tree after her—which he puts down . NORA gives him a shilling—and he goes out grumbling . NORA hums contentedly, and eats macaroons. Then HELMER puts his head out of his Manager's room, and NORA hides macaroons cautiously.
Helmer ( playfully ). Is that my little squirrel twittering—that my lark frisking in here?
Nora . Ess! ( To herself. ) I have only been married eight years, so these marital amenities have not yet had time to pall!
Helmer ( threatening with his finger ). I hope the little bird has surely not been digging its beak into any macaroons, eh?
Nora ( bolting one, and wiping her mouth ). No, most certainly not. ( To herself .) The worst of being so babyish is—one does have to tell such a lot of taradiddles! ( To H. ) See what I 've bought—it's been such fun!
Helmer ( inspecting parcels ). H'm—rather an expensive little lark!
Nora . Little birds like to have a flutter occasionally. Which reminds me—( Plays with his coat-buttons. ) I'm such a simple ickle sing—but if you are thinking of giving me a Christmas present, make it cash.
Helmer . Just like your poor father, he always asked me to make it cash—he never made any himself! It's heredity, I suppose. Well—well!
Nora . What, CHRISTINA—why, how old you look! But then you are poor. I'm not. TORVALD has just been made a Bank Manager. ( Tidies the room. ) Isn't it really wonderfully delicious to be well off? But, of course, you wouldn't know. We were poor once, and, do you know, when TORVALD was ill, I—( tossing her head )—though I am such a frivolous little squirrel, and all that, I actually borrowed £300 for him to go abroad. Wasn't that clever? Tra-la-la! I shan't tell you who lent it. I didn't even tell TORVALD. I am such a mere baby I don't tell him everything. I tell Dr. RANK, though. Oh, I'm so awfully happy I should like to shout, Dash it all!