[Looks at her furtively.] Indeed.
Madam Helseth.
[By the sofa, dusting away vigorously.] Perhaps the last people you would think likely to, Miss.
Rebecca.
[Busy with the flowers.] Come now, that’s only an idea of yours, Madam Helseth. You can’t be sure of what you’re saying.
Madam Helseth.
You think I can’t, Miss? But I can tell you I am. Why—if you must know it—I once took a letter in to Mortensgård myself.
Rebecca.
[Turning.] No—did you?
Madam Helseth.