NURSE.
Very well, ma’am. [Shuts the door.]
NORA.
[pale with terror]. Deprave my little children? Poison my home? [A short pause. Then she tosses her head.] It’s not true. It can’t possibly be true.
ACT II
[THE SAME SCENE.—THE Christmas Tree is in the corner by the piano, stripped of its ornaments and with burnt-down candle-ends on its dishevelled branches. NORA’S cloak and hat are lying on the sofa. She is alone in the room, walking about uneasily. She stops by the sofa and takes up her cloak.]
NORA.
[drops her cloak]. Someone is coming now! [Goes to the door and listens.] No—it is no one. Of course, no one will come today, Christmas Day—nor tomorrow either. But, perhaps—[opens the door and looks out]. No, nothing in the letterbox; it is quite empty. [Comes forward.] What rubbish! of course he can’t be in earnest about it. Such a thing couldn’t happen; it is impossible—I have three little children.
[Enter the NURSE from the room on the left, carrying a big cardboard box.]
NURSE.
At last I have found the box with the fancy dress.
NORA.
Thanks; put it on the table.
NURSE.
[doing so]. But it is very much in want of mending.
NORA.
I should like to tear it into a hundred thousand pieces.