[Picks up the slippers from the floor.] What are you looking at, Hedda?
Hedda.
[Once more calm and mistress of herself.] I am only looking at the leaves. They are so yellow—so withered.
Tesman.
[Wraps up the slippers and lays them on the table.] Well you see, we are well into September now.
Hedda.
[Again restless.] Yes, to think of it!—Already in—in September.
Tesman.
Don’t you think Aunt Julia’s manner was strange, dear? Almost solemn? Can you imagine what was the matter with her? Eh?
Hedda.