HEDDA.
I have not—and have never had it.
MRS. ELVSTED.
Not your husband's?
HEDDA.
Do you think that is worth the trouble? Oh, if you could only understand how poor I am. And fate has made you so rich! [Clasps her passionately in her arms.] I think I must burn your hair off after all.
MRS. ELVSTED.
Let me go! Let me go! I am afraid of you, Hedda!
BERTA.
[In the middle doorway.] Tea is laid in the dining-room, ma'am.