Hjalmar. Butter.
Gina. I’ll get you some directly.
She goes into the kitchen.
Hjalmar (calls after her). Oh! it doesn’t matter; dry bread will do just as well.
Gina (bringing in a butter-dish). Here you are; it’s quite fresh.
She pours him out another cup of coffee, he sits down on the sofa, spreads more butter on his bread, and eats and drinks for a while in silence.
Hjalmar. Could I—without being worried by anyone—no matter whom—could I stop for a day or two in the sitting-room?
Gina. Yes, you could very well, if you would.
Hjalmar. For I can’t see any possibility of getting all father’s things away at once.
Gina. And besides you must tell him first that you won’t go on living with us.