Kroll. You said here, the day before yesterday, that you were twenty-nine—going on for thirty.
Rebecca. Really? Did I say that?
Kroll. Yes, you did. And from that I can calculate—
Rebecca. Stop! That will not help you to calculate. For, I may as well tell you at once, I am a year older than I give myself out to be.
Kroll (smiling incredulously). Really? That is something new. How is that?
Rebecca. When I had passed my twenty-fifth birthday, I thought I was getting altogether too old for an unmarried girl, so I resolved to tell a lie and take a year off my age.
Kroll. You—an emancipated woman—cherishing prejudices as to the marriageable age!
Rebecca. I know it was a silly thing to do—and ridiculous, too. But every one has some prejudice or another that they cannot get quite rid of. We are like that.
Kroll. Maybe. But my calculation may be quite correct, all the same; because Dr. West was up in Finmark for a flying visit the year before he was appointed.
Rebecca (impetuously). That is not true