Hilda.
Wrong—straws! Poor Tesman didn't fancy that—so he shot himself, un-beautifully, through his ticket-pocket. And I went on and took Rosmershölm for the summer. There had been misfortune in the house, so it was to let. Dear good old Rector Kroll acted as my reference; his wife and children had no sympathy with his views, so I used to see him every day. And I persuaded him, too, to attempt the impossible—he had never ridden anything but a rocking-horse in his life, but I made him promise to mount the White Horse of Rosmershölm. He didn't get over that. They found his body, a fortnight afterwards, in the mill-dam. Thrilling!
Dr. Herdal.
[Shakes his finger at her.] What a girl you are, Miss Wangel! But you mustn't play these games here, you know.
Hilda.
[Laughs to herself.] Of course not. But I suppose I am a strange sort of bird.
Dr. Herdal.
You are like a strong tonic. When I look at you I seem to be regarding an effervescing saline draught. Still, I really must decline to take you.
Hilda.
[A little sulky.] That is not how you spoke ten years ago, up at the mountain station, when you were such a flirt!