Yes, I begin to——. I really think—that we ought to get on together. [Looks out to the right, and hurriedly disengages herself.] Ah! Please don’t say anything about it!
Arnholm.
What is the matter, dear?
Boletta.
Oh, it’s that poor——[Points.] Over there.
Arnholm.
Is it your father——?
Boletta.
No, it’s the young sculptor. He is walking over there with Hilda.
Arnholm.