RITA. [Soothingly, rising.] There, there, there!
ALLMERS. [Threateningly.] But these rascals shall soon find out who is the master down at the beach!
ASTA. [Listening.] There is someone knocking.
EYOLF. Oh, I'm sure it's Borgheim!
RITA. Come in.
[The RAT-WIFE comes softly and noiselessly in by the door on the right. She is a thin little shrunken figure, old and grey-haired, with keen, piercing eyes, dressed in an old-fashioned flowered gown, with a black hood and cloak. She has in her hand a large red umbrella, and carries a black bag by a loop over her arm.]
EYOLF. [Softly, taking hold of ASTA's dress.] Auntie! That must surely be her!
THE RAT-WIFE. [Curtseying at the door.] I humbly beg pardon—but are your worships troubled with any gnawing things in the house?
ALLMERS. Here? No, I don't think so.
THE RAT-WIFE. For it would be such a pleasure to me to rid your worships' house of them.