Rebecca. Naturally, it was something that poor Mrs. Rosmer in her invalid state—
Mrs. Helseth. Well, you have mentioned her name, miss—not I.
Rebecca. But what was in the letter?—No, of course, you cannot know that.
Mrs. Helseth. Hm!—it is just possible I may know, all the same.
Rebecca. Did she tell you what she was writing about, then?
Mrs. Helseth. No, she did not do that. But when Mortensgaard had read it, he set to work and cross-questioned me, so that I got a very good idea of what was in it.
Rebecca. What do you think was in it, then? Oh, dear, good Mrs. Helseth, do tell me!
Mrs. Helseth. Certainly not, miss. Not for worlds.
Rebecca. Oh, you can tell me. You and I are such friends, you know.
Mrs. Helseth. Heaven forbid I should tell you anything about that, miss. I shall not tell you anything, except that it was some dreadful idea that they had gone and put into my poor sick mistress's head.