THE MAID. You're not a reporter, are you? Hedda doesn't talk to
reporters--any more.
THE STRANGER. No. I'm not a reporter.
THE MAID. What are you, then?
THE STRANGER. I am the representative of the International Ibsen
Society. You know who Ibsen was, of course?
THE MAID. Yes--he was that nasty man who wrote plays about everybody's
private affairs.
THE STRANGER. There _is_ that point of view, of course. I'm sorry
to intrude--
THE MAID. I should think you would be! Now that she and Lovberg are
happily married--
THE STRANGER. That's precisely it. You see, we've just discovered that
instead of committing suicide, as Ibsen made them do in the play, they
eloped and were eventually married. You can't imagine how delighted we
all are to discover that Hedda is still alive. As soon as we found that
out, I was sent here immediately--
THE MAID. What did you think you would see?
THE STRANGER. See? I shall see a woman whose soul burns with an
unquenchable flame of divine adventurousness. I shall see the most
ardent, impatient, eager, restless, impetuous, and insatiably romantic
woman in the world.
THE MAID. (_pointing to the door_) You mean--her?
THE STRANGER. Yes--why, there is the very sofa upon which she and
Lovberg used to sit, in the old days, discussing his past. There he
would sit and tell her of his escapades, his affairs, everything.
Tell me, does she insist on Lovberg's being polygamous, whether he
wants to or not?
THE MAID. Evidently you don't know the new Hedda. Or the new Lovberg
either. The only thing they talk about is what they call "the
monogamist ideal."
THE STRANGER. There is some mistake. I will find out when I see her.
Surely she is still interested in adventure--the free life--vine-
leaves--beauty--! I will remind her of her own past--
THE MAID. No you won't. She won't let you. She will tell you that too
much attention is paid to such foolishness nowadays.
THE STRANGER. She! who was interested in nothing else! But then--what
is she interested in, now?