[Goes to the fence.] You can see her best from here.
Lyngstrand.
The last trip of the season.
Ballested.
“Soon will all the straits be ice-bound,” as the poet says. It is sad, Mrs. Wangel! And I hear we are to lose you too for a time: you go out to Skioldvik to-morrow, I am told.
Wangel.
No—that plan has come to nothing; this evening we two have changed our minds.
Arnholm.
[Looking from one to the other.] Ah,—really!
Boletta.