Fie Hilda, you are really a horrid child!
Hilda.
Well, that’s what I want to be—just for spite! [Looks down.] Ah, at last! Arnholm doesn’t seem to enjoy climbing. [Turns round.] Oh, by-the-bye—what do you think I noticed about Arnholm while we were at dinner?
Boletta.
What?
Hilda.
Only think, he’s beginning to turn bald—right on the crown of his head.
Boletta.
Oh rubbish! I’m sure he isn’t.
Hilda.