Mrs. Herdal.
Yes; I suppose there is a poultice of that sort burning on every breast—and we must never take it off either—it is our simple duty to keep it on. I too, Haustus, am haunted by a fancy that if this Miss Wangel were to ring at our bell now——
Dr. Herdal.
After she has been lost sight of for ten years? She is safe enough in some sanatorium, depend upon it. And what if she did come? Do you think, my dear good woman, that I—a sensible clear-headed general practitioner, who have found out all I know for myself—would let her play the deuce with me as she did with poor Halvard? No, general practitioners don't do such things—even in Norway!
Mrs. Herdal.
Don't they indeed, Haustus? [The surgery-bell rings loudly.] Did you hear that? There she is! I will go and put on my best cap. It is my duty to show her that small attention.
Dr. Herdal.
[Laughing nervously.] Why, what on earth!—— It's the night-bell. It is most probably the new book-keeper! [Mrs. Herdal goes out; Dr. Herdal rises with difficulty, and opens the door.] Goodness gracious!—it is that girl, after all!
[Hilda Wangel enters through the dispensary door. She wears a divided skirt, thick boots, and a Tam o' Shanter with an eagle's wing in it. Somewhat freckled. Carries a green tin cylinder slung round her, and a rug in a strap. Goes straight up to Herdal, her eyes sparkling with happiness.
How are you? I've run you down, you see! The ten years are up. Isn't it scrumptiously thrilling, to see me like this?