Mrs. Linden.
I hear you called at my lodgings.
Nora.
Yes, I was just passing. There’s something you must help me with. Let us sit here on the sofa—so. To-morrow evening there’s to be a fancy ball at Consul Stenborg’s overhead, and Torvald wants me to appear as a Neapolitan fisher-girl, and dance the tarantella; I learned it at Capri.
Mrs. Linden.
I see—quite a performance.
Nora.
Yes, Torvald wishes it. Look, this is the costume; Torvald had it made for me in Italy. But now it’s all so torn, I don’t know——
Mrs. Linden.
Oh, we shall soon set that to rights. It’s only the trimming that has come loose here and there. Have you a needle and thread? Ah, here’s the very thing.