Hedda.
Was it through the temple, or through the breast? The breast? Well, one can do it beautifully through the breast, too. Do you know, as an advanced woman, I like an act of that sort—it's so positive to have the courage to settle the account with himself—it's beautiful, really!
Mrs. Elvsted.
Oh, Hedda, what an odd way to look at it! But never mind poor dear Mr. Lövborg now. What we've got to do is to see if we can't put his wonderful manuscript, that he said he had torn to pieces, together again. [Takes a bundle of small pages out of the pocket of her mantle.] There are the loose scraps he dictated it to me from. I hid them on the chance of some such emergency. And if dear Mr. Tesman and I were to put our heads together, I do think something might come of it.
George.
Fancy! I will dedicate my life—or all I can spare of it—to the task. I seem to feel I owe him some slight amends, perhaps. No use crying over spilt milk, eh, Mrs. Elvsted? We'll sit down—just you and I—in the back drawing-room, and see if you can't inspire me as you did him, eh?
Mrs. Elvsted.
Oh, goodness, yes! I should like it—if it only might be possible!
[George and Mrs. Elvsted go into the back drawing-room and become absorbed in eager conversation; Hedda sits in a chair in the front room, and a little later Brack crosses over to her
Hedda.