Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 9).djvu/254

 Hilda.

Oh, indeed!—Don't you believe it, my girl! I tell you we shall never get on well with her. She doesn't suit us, nor we her. Heaven knows what tempted father to drag her into the house!—I shouldn't wonder a bit if she were to go mad on our hands some fine day.

Boletta. Mad? What makes you think such a thing?

Hilda.

Oh, there would be nothing so wonderful about it. Didn't her mother go mad? She died mad, I know.

Boletta.

Yes, I should like to know what you don't poke your nose into. All I say is, don't go chattering about it. Be good now—for father's sake. Do you hear, Hilda?

[Wangel, Ellida, Arnholm, and Lyngstrand come up from the right.

Ellida.

[Points away towards the background.] It lies out there.

Arnholm.

Yes, of course; it must be in that direction.

Ellida. Out there lies the sea.

Boletta.

[To Arnholm.] Don't you think it's pretty up here?