Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 10).djvu/115

 Hedda.

Yes, there is an odour of mortality about it. It reminds me of a bouquet—the day after the ball. [Clasps her hands behind her head, leans back in her chair and looks at him.] Oh, my dear Judge—you cannot imagine how horribly I shall bore myself here.

Brack.

Why should not you, too, find some sort of vocation in life, Mrs. Hedda?

Hedda.

A vocation—that should attract me?

Brack.

If possible, of course.

Hedda.

Heaven knows what sort of a vocation that could be. I often wonder whether[Breaking off.] But that would never do either.

Brack.

Who can tell? Let me hear what it is.

Hedda.

Whether I might not get Tesman to go into politics, I mean.

Brack.

[Laughing.] Tesman? No really now, political life is not the thing for him—not at all in his line.

Hedda.

No, I daresay not.—But if I could get him into it all the same?