Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 7).djvu/40

 Nora.

For myself! Oh, I don't want anything.

Helmer.

Nonsense! Just tell me something sensible you would like to have.

Nora.

No, really I don't know of anything—Well, listen, Torvald

Helmer.

Well?

Nora.

[Playing with his coat-buttons, without looking him in the face.] If you really want to give me something, you might, you know—you might

Helmer.

Well? Out with it!

Nora.

[Quickly.] You might give me money, Torvald. Only just what you think you can spare; then I can buy something with it later on.

Helmer.

But, Nora

Nora.

Oh, please do, dear Torvald, please do! I should hang the money in lovely gilt paper on the Christmas-tree. Wouldn't that be fun?

Helmer.

What do they call the birds that are always making the money fly?