MRS LINDE.
[sewing]. So you are going to be dressed up tomorrow Nora. I will tell you what—I shall come in for a moment and see you in your fine feathers. But I have completely forgotten to thank you for a delightful evening yesterday.
NORA.
[gets up, and crosses the stage]. Well, I don’t think yesterday was as pleasant as usual. You ought to have come to town a little earlier, Christine. Certainly Torvald does understand how to make a house dainty and attractive.
MRS LINDE.
And so do you, it seems to me; you are not your father’s daughter for nothing. But tell me, is Doctor Rank always as depressed as he was yesterday?
NORA.
No; yesterday it was very noticeable. I must tell you that he suffers from a very dangerous disease. He has consumption of the spine, poor creature. His father was a horrible man who committed all sorts of excesses; and that is why his son was sickly from childhood, do you understand?
MRS LINDE.
[dropping her sewing]. But, my dearest Nora, how do you know anything about such things?
NORA.
[walking about]. Pooh! When you have three children, you get visits now and then from—from married women, who know something of medical matters, and they talk about one thing and another.
MRS LINDE.
[goes on sewing. A short silence]. Does Doctor Rank come here everyday?
NORA.
Everyday regularly. He is Torvald’s most intimate friend, and a great friend of mine too. He is just like one of the family.
MRS LINDE.
But tell me this—is he perfectly sincere? I mean, isn’t he the kind of man that is very anxious to make himself agreeable?
NORA.
Not in the least. What makes you think that?