Dr. Herd. (sits down and takes some fish). Fascinating? Well, goodness knows, I couldn't see that at all. (Seriously.) Has it never struck you, Aline, that elderly Norwegians are so deucedly impressionable—mere bundles of overstrained nerves, hypersensitive ganglia. Except, of course, the Medical Profession.
Mrs. Herd. Yes, of course; those in that profession are not so inclined to gangle. And when one has succeeded by such a stroke of luck as you have——
Dr. Herd. (drinks a glass of punch). You're right enough there. If I had not been called in to prescribe for Dr. Ryval, who used to have the leading practice here, I should never have stepped so wonderfully into his shoes as I did. (Changes to a tone of quiet chuckling merriment.) Let me tell you a funny story, Aline; it sounds a ludicrous thing—but all my good fortune here was based upon a simple little pill. For if Dr. Ryval had never taken it——
Mrs. Herd. (anxiously). Then you do think it was the pill that caused him to——?
Dr. Herd. On the contrary; I am perfectly sure the pill had nothing whatever to do with it—the inquest made it quite clear that it was really the liniment. But don't you see, Aline, what tortures me night and day is the thought that it might unconsciously have been the pill which——Never to be free from that! To have such a thought gnawing and burning always—always, like a moral mustard poultice! (He takes more punch.)
Mrs. Herd. Yes; I suppose there is a poultice of that sort burning on every breast—and we must never take it off either—it is our simple duty to keep it on. I too, Haustus, am haunted by a fancy that if this Miss Wangel were to ring at our bell now——
Dr. Herd. After she has been lost sight of for ten years? She is safe enough in some Sanatorium, depend upon it. And what if she did come? Do you think, my dear good woman, that I—a sensible clear-headed general practitioner, who have found out all I know for myself—would let her play the deuce with me as she did with poor Halvard? No, general practitioners don't do such things—even in Norway!
Mrs. Herd. Don't they indeed, Haustus? (The Surgery-bell rings loudly.) Did you hear that? There she is! I will go and put on my best cap. It is my duty to show her that small attention.
Dr. Herd. (laughing nervously). Why, what on earth!——It's the night-bell. It is most probably the new book-keeper! (Mrs. Herdal goes out; Dr. Herdal rises with difficulty, and opens the door.) Goodness gracious!—it is that girl, after all!
Hilda Wangel (enters through the Dispensary door. She wears a divided skirt, thick boots, and a Tam o'Shanter, with an eagle's wing in it. Somewhat freckled. Carries a green tin cylinder slung round her, and a rug in a strap. Goes straight up to Herdal, her eyes sparkling with happiness). How are you? I've run you down, you see! The ten years are up. Isn't it scrumptiously thrilling, to see me like this?