Ellida.
Oh yes, of course! My dear good Arnholm, it is not at all as you suppose. It’s something quite incomprehensible. I don’t think I could find words to tell you of it. You would only think I was ill—or else that I was stark mad.
Arnholm.
My dear Mrs. Wangel—now you must and shall tell me the whole story.
Ellida.
Well then—I suppose I must try. How should you, with your common sense, ever be able to understand that——[Looks out and breaks off.] Wait—another time—here is some one coming.
Lyngstrand appears on the road, from the left, and enters the garden. He has a flower in his button-hole, and carries a large handsome bouquet, wrapped round with paper and tied with ribbons. He stops, hesitating a little, in front of the verandah.
Ellida.
[Coming forward in the arbour.] Is it the girls you are looking for, Mr. Lyngstrand?
Lyngstrand.