Nora. What is what, dear?
Helmer. Rank led me to expect a splendid transformation.
Rank (in the doorway). I understood so, but evidently I was mistaken.
Nora. Yes, nobody is to have the chance of admiring me in my dress until to-morrow.
Helmer. But, my dear Nora, you look so worn out. Have you been practising too much?
Nora. No, I have not practised at all.
Helmer. But you will need to—
Nora. Yes, indeed I shall, Torvald. But I can't get on a bit without you to help me; I have absolutely forgotten the whole thing.
Helmer. Oh, we will soon work it up again.
Nora. Yes, help me, Torvald. Promise that you will! I am so nervous about it—all the people—. You must give yourself up to me entirely this evening. Not the tiniest bit of business—you mustn't even take a pen in your hand. Will you promise, Torvald dear?