Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 7).djvu/93

 Nora.

How warm it is here. And I have so much to do.

Helmer.

[Rises and gathers up his papers.] Yes, and I must try to get some of these papers looked through before dinner. And I shall think over your costume too. Perhaps I may even find something to hang in gilt paper on the Christmas-tree.

[Lays his hand on her head.] My precious little song-bird!

[He goes into his room and shuts the door.

Nora.

[Softly, after a pause.] It can't be. It's impossible. It must be impossible!

Anna.

[At the door, left] The little ones are begging so prettily to come to mamma.

Nora.

No, no, no; don't let them come to me! Keep them with you, Anna.

Anna.

Very well, ma'am. [Shuts the door

Nora.

[Pale with terror.] Corrupt my children!—Poison my home! [Short pause. She throws back her head.] It's not true! It can never, never be true!