"Beautiful rainbow-coloured powders that will give one a real grip on the world!"
Dr. Herd. (interested against his will). And where did you go after that, may I ask, Miss Wangel?
Hilda. Oh, ever so far North. There I met Mr. and Mrs. Tesman—the second Mrs. Tesman—she who was Mrs. Elvsted, with the irritating hair, you know. They were on their honeymoon, and had just decided that it was impossible to reconstruct poor Mr. Lövborg's great book out of Mrs. Elvsted's rough notes. But I insisted on George's attempting the impossible—with Me. And what do you think Mrs. Tesman wears in her hair now?
Dr. Herd. Why, really I could not say. Vine-leaves, perhaps.
Hilda. Wrong—straws! Poor Tesman didn't fancy that—so he shot himself, un-beautifully, through his ticket-pocket. And I went on and took Rosmersholm for the Summer. There had been misfortune in the house, so it was to let. Dear good old Rector Kroll acted as my reference; his wife and children had no sympathy with his views, so I used to see him every day. And I persuaded him, too, to attempt the impossible—he had never ridden anything but a rocking-horse in his life, but I made him promise to mount the White Horse of the Rosmersholms. He didn't get over that. They found his body, a fortnight afterwards, in the mill-dam. Thrilling!
Dr. Herd. (shakes his finger at her). What a girl you are, Miss Wangel! But you mustn't play these games here, you know.
Hilda (laughs to herself). Of course not. But I suppose I am a strange sort of bird.
Dr. Herd. You are like a strong tonic. When I look at you I seem to be regarding an effervescing saline draught. Still, I really must decline to take you.
Hilda (a little sulky). That is not how you spoke ten years ago, up at the mountain station, when you were such a flirt!
Dr. Herd. Was I a flirt? Deuce take me if I remember. But I am not like that now.