Hedvig brings in a tray with beer and glasses, which she places on the table.
Hjalmar (stroking her head). Thanks, thanks, Hedvig. (Hedvig throws her arms round his neck and whispers into his ear.) No. No bread and butter just now. (Looks straight in front of him.) Yes, perhaps Gregers will have a piece.
Gregers (with a gesture of refusal). No, no, thank you.
Hjalmar (still mournful). Well, you can bring in a little, all the same. If you’ve a crust that’d be nice. And mind you, butter it well.
Hedvig nods brightly, and goes into the kitchen again.
Gregers (who has followed her with his eyes). She looks bright and well enough though, it seems to me.
Gina. Yes, thank God, there’s nothing else the matter with her.
Gregers. No doubt she will grow like you in time, Mrs. Ekdal. How old may she be now?
Gina. Hedvig is exactly fourteen; it’s her birthday the day after to-morrow.
Gregers. She’s pretty tall for her age.