[Goes out.
Helmer.
Awful bore that woman—hate boresh! [Looks at Nora, then comes nearer.] Oh, you prillil squillikins, I do love you so! Shomehow, I feel sho lively thishevenin'!
"Oh, you prillil squillikins!"
Nora.
[Goes to other side of table.] I won't have all that, Torvald!
Helmer.
Why? ain't you my lil' lark—ain't thish our lil' cage? Ver-well, then. [A ring.] Rank! confound it all! [Enter DR. Rank.] Rank, dear old boy, you've been [hiccoughs] going it upstairs. Cap'tal champagne, eh? 'Shamed of you, Rank!
[He sits down on sofa, and closes his eyes gently.