Ida.
Oh—oh—you—If anyone—my hair will be all—
[William lets his arms fall nervelessly from round her, folds his hands, hangs his head, and stands before her suddenly sobered, like an arrested criminal.
(Smoothing her hair.) Oh, what a rough boy you are, sometimes!
William.
Rough you call it—I should call it something quite different.
Ida.
Oh, Willy! why are you so depressed again? All in a minute! Really, you’re incorrigible!
William (gripping her hand, puts his arm round her shoulders, makes her walk with him quickly through the hall).