Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 8).djvu/284

 Hialmar.

Oh, you can imagine we haven't the heart to tell her of it. She dreams of no danger. Gay and careless and chirping like a little bird, she flutters onward into a life of endless night. [Overcome.] Oh, it is cruelly hard on me, Gregers.

[Hedvig brings a tray with beer and glasses, which she sets upon the table.

Hialmar.

[Stroking her hair.] Thanks, thanks, Hedvig.

[Hedvig puts her arm round his neck and whispers in his ear.

Hialmar.

No, no bread and butter just now. [Looks up.] But perhaps you would like some, Gregers.

Gregers. [With a gesture of refusal.] No, no thank you.

Hialmar.

[Still melancholy.] Well, you can bring in a little all the same. If you have a crust, that is all I want. And plenty of butter on it, mind.

[Hedvig nods gaily and goes out into the kitchen again.

Gregers.

[Who has been following her with his eyes.] She seems quite strong and healthy otherwise.

Gina.

Yes. In other ways there's nothing amiss with her, thank goodness.