when you were tutor out at Skioldvik.[17]
ARNHOLM.
Of course. She often visited at the parsonage. And I used generally to
see her when I went to the lighthouse to have a talk with her father.
WANGEL.
Her life out there has left a deep impression upon her, as you may
imagine. In town here people can’t understand it at all. They call her
“the lady from the sea.”
ARNHOLM.
Do they?
WANGEL.
Yes. And look here—speak to her about the old days, my dear Arnholm. I
am sure it will do her good.
ARNHOLM.
[_Looking doubtfully at him._] Have you any particular reason to think
so?
WANGEL.
Yes, certainly I have.
ELLIDA’S VOICE.
[_Heard without, in the garden to the right._] Are you there, Wangel?
WANGEL.
[_Rising._] Yes, dear.
MRS. WANGEL, _with a large light cloak round her, and with wet
hair hanging loose over her shoulders, comes from among the
trees beside the arbour._ ARNHOLM _rises._
WANGEL.
[_Smiling and stretching out his hands towards her._] Ah, here comes the
mermaid!
ELLIDA.
[_Hastens up to the verandah and seizes his hands._] Thank heaven,
you’re safe home again! When did you come?
WANGEL.
Just now—a few moments ago. [_Points to_ ARNHOLM.] But have you nothing
to say to an old acquaintance——?
ELLIDA.
[_Holds out her hand to_ ARNHOLM.] So you have really come then?
Welcome! And forgive my not being at home——
ARNHOLM.
Oh, don’t mention it. Pray don’t stand on ceremony——
WANGEL.
Was the water nice and cool to-day?
ELLIDA.
Cool! Why, the water never is cool here—so tepid and flat. Pah! the
water is sickly in here in the fiords.
ARNHOLM.
Sickly?
ELLIDA.
Yes, sickly. And I believe it makes one sickly too.
WANGEL.
[_Smiling._] A nice testimonial for a sea-bathing place.
ARNHOLM.
I should rather say that you, Mrs. Wangel, stand in a peculiar relation
to the sea and all that belongs to it.
ELLIDA.
Well, you may be right. I almost think so myself. But do you see how the
girls have been decorating the place in your honour?
WANGEL.
[_Embarrassed._] H’m. [_Looks at his watch._] I’m afraid I must be
going——
ARNHOLM.
Is it really in my honour?
ELLIDA.
Why, of course it is. We’re not so fine as this every day.—Pah! How
suffocatingly hot it is under this roof! [_Goes down into the garden._]
Come over here! Here there’s a breath of air to be had at any rate.
[_She seats herself in the arbour._
ARNHOLM.
[_Goes to her._] Now I should say the air was distinctly fresh here.
ELLIDA.
Yes, you are used to the close air of Christiania. I’m told it is
perfectly dreadful there in summer.
WANGEL.
[_Who has also come down into the garden._] Ellida dear, I must leave
you to entertain our good friend here for a while.
ELLIDA.
Have you work to do?
WANGEL.
Yes, I must go down to the surgery: and then I must change my clothes.
But I shan’t be long——
ARNHOLM.
[_Seats himself in the arbour._] Don’t hurry, my dear Doctor. Your wife
and I will manage to pass the time.
WANGEL.
Ah yes—I’m sure of that. Well, good-bye for the present then?
[_He goes out through the garden to the left._
ELLIDA.
[_After a short silence._] Don’t you think it is nice sitting here?
ARNHOLM.
I think it is very nice.
ELLIDA.
This is called my summer-house; for it was I that had it built. Or
rather Wangel—to please me.
ARNHOLM.
And you sit here a good deal?
ELLIDA.
Yes, I pass most of the day here.
ARNHOLM.
With the girls, I suppose.
ELLIDA.
No, the girls—they keep to the verandah.
ARNHOLM.
And Wangel?
ELLIDA.
Oh, Wangel goes to and fro. Sometimes he is here with me, and sometimes
over there with the children.
ARNHOLM.
Is it you that have arranged things so?
ELLIDA.
I think it’s the arrangement that suits us all best. We can speak across
to each other now and again—whenever we happen to have anything to say.
ARNHOLM.
[_After a reflective pause._] When last I crossed your path—out at
Skioldvik, I mean——. H’m—that’s a long time ago——
ELLIDA.
It is a good ten years since you were out there with us.
ARNHOLM.
Yes, about that. But when I remember you out at the lighthouse——! “The
heathen,” as the old pastor used to call you, because he said your
father had had you christened with the name of a ship and not of a
Christian——
ELLIDA.
Well, what then?
ARNHOLM.
The last thing I should have expected was to meet you again, here, as
Mrs. Wangel.
ELLIDA.
No, at that time Wangel was not yet a—— The girls’ first mother was
living then—their own mother, I mean——
ARNHOLM.
Of course, of course. But even if it had not been so—even if he had had
no ties—I should never have expected this to come to pass.
ELLIDA.
Nor I. Never in this world—at that time.
ARNHOLM.
Wangel is such a fine fellow; so upright so genuinely good-hearted, and
kind to every one——
ELLIDA.
[_Warmly and cordially._] Yes, indeed he is!
ARNHOLM.
——but he must be so utterly different from you, I should think.
ELLIDA.
You are right there too; we _are_ different.
ARNHOLM.
Well then, how did it come about? How was it?
ELLIDA.
You mustn’t ask me, my dear Arnholm. I shouldn’t be able to explain it
to you. And even if I did, you could never really understand a word of
my explanation.
ARNHOLM.
H’m——[_A little more softly._] Have you ever told your husband anything
about me? I mean, of course, about the unsuccessful step which—I was
once rash enough to take.
ELLIDA.
No. How can you think I would? I have never said a word to him—about
what you allude to.
ARNHOLM.
I am glad of that. I felt a little embarrassed at the thought that——
ELLIDA.
You need not at all. I have only told him what is true—that I liked you
very much, and that you were the truest and best friend I had out there.
ARNHOLM.
Thank you for that. But now tell me—why have you never written to me
since I left?
ELLIDA.
I thought it might perhaps be painful to you to hear from one who—who
could not meet your wishes. It would have been like opening an old
wound, I thought.
ARNHOLM.
H’m—— Well, well, I daresay you were right.
ELLIDA.
But why did _you_ never write?
ARNHOLM.
[_Looks at her and smiles half reproachfully._] I? I begin? And perhaps
be suspected of wishing to reopen the attack? After meeting with such a
rebuff?
ELLIDA.
Oh no, I can understand that too.—Have you never thought of forming some
other tie?
ARNHOLM.
Never. I have remained faithful to my memories.
ELLIDA.
[_Half-joking._] Oh, nonsense! Let those sad old memories go. I am sure
you had much better think about getting happily married.
ARNHOLM.
Then I have no time to lose, Mrs. Wangel. Remember—I blush to say it—I
shall never see seven-and-thirty again.
ELLIDA.
Well then, all the more reason to make haste. [_Is silent for a moment,
then says earnestly and in a low tone._] But listen now, my dear
Arnholm,—I am going to tell you something I could not have told you at
that time, to save my life.
ARNHOLM.
What may that be?
ELLIDA.
When you took—that unsuccessful step, as you said just now,—I _could_
not answer you otherwise than I did.
ARNHOLM.
I know that. You had nothing but friendship to offer me. I quite
understand that.
ELLIDA.
But you do not know that my whole mind and all my thoughts were centred
elsewhere at that time?
ARNHOLM.
At that time?
ELLIDA.
Yes, just then.
ARNHOLM.
But that is impossible! You are mistaking the time! I don’t believe you
knew Wangel then.
ELLIDA.
It is not Wangel that I am speaking of.
ARNHOLM.
Not Wangel? But at that time—out at Skioldvik—I don’t remember another
creature that I could conceive your caring for.
ELLIDA.
No, no,—I daresay not. For the whole thing was such utter madness.
ARNHOLM.
Do tell me more about this!
ELLIDA.
Oh, it is enough for you to know that I was not free at that time. And
now you _do_ know it.
ARNHOLM.
And if you _had_ been free at that time?
ELLIDA.
What then?
Arnholm.
Would your answer to my letter have been different?
ELLIDA.
How can I tell? When Wangel came, my answer was different.
ARNHOLM.
Then what is the use of telling me that you were not free?
ELLIDA.
[_Rises, as if in distress and agitation._] Because I must have some one
I can speak to about it. No, no, don’t rise.
ARNHOLM.
Your husband, then, knows nothing of the matter?
ELLIDA.
I told him from the first that my thoughts had once been drawn
elsewhere. He has never wanted to know more. We have never touched upon
the subject since. After all, it was nothing but a piece of madness; and
then it all came to an end so quickly. At least,—in a way.
ARNHOLM.
[_Rising._] Only in a way? Not entirely?
ELLIDA.
Oh yes, of course! My dear good Arnholm, it is not at all as you
suppose. It’s something quite incomprehensible. I don’t think I could
find words to tell you of it. You would only think I was ill—or else
that I was stark mad.
ARNHOLM.
My dear Mrs. Wangel—now you must and shall tell me the whole story.
ELLIDA.
Well then—I suppose I must try. How should you, with your common sense,
ever be able to understand that——[_Looks out and breaks off._]
Wait—another time—here is some one coming.
LYNGSTRAND _appears on the road, from the left, and enters the
garden. He has a flower in his button-hole, and carries a
large handsome bouquet, wrapped round with paper and tied
with ribbons. He stops, hesitating a little, in front of the
verandah._
ELLIDA.
[_Coming forward in the arbour._] Is it the girls you are looking for,
Mr. Lyngstrand?
LYNGSTRAND.
[_Turning._] Ah, are you there, Mrs. Wangel? [_Bows and approaches._]
No, not exactly—it wasn’t the young ladies. It was you yourself, Mrs.
Wangel. You gave me permission to come and see you——
ELLIDA.
Yes, of course I did. You are always welcome here.
LYNGSTRAND.
Many thanks. I fortunately happened to hear that this was a day of
rejoicing in the family——
ELLIDA.
Ah, so you know that?
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes; and so I make so bold as to offer you this, Mrs. Wangel——
[_He bows and holds out the bouquet._
ELLIDA.
[_Smiles._] But, my dear Mr. Lyngstrand, ought you not to give your
beautiful flowers to Mr. Arnholm himself? For it’s in his honour that——
LYNGSTRAND.
[_Looks in bewilderment from one to the other._] I beg your pardon—I
don’t know this gentleman. It’s only——. I meant them for a birthday
gift, Mrs. Wangel.
ELLIDA.
A birthday gift? Then you have made a mistake, Mr. Lyngstrand. To-day is
not the birthday of any one in this house.
LYNGSTRAND.
[_Smiling quietly._] Oh, I know all about it. But I didn’t know it was
such a secret.
ELLIDA.
What is it you know?
LYNGSTRAND.
That it’s your birthday, Mrs. Wangel——
ELLIDA.
Mine?
ARNHOLM.
[_Looking at her inquiringly._] To-day? No, surely not.
ELLIDA.
[_To_ LYNGSTRAND.] What has put that into your head?
LYNGSTRAND.
It was Miss Hilda that let it out. I happened to look in a little while
ago, and I asked the young ladies why they had made such a grand display
of flowers and flags——
ELLIDA.
Well?
LYNGSTRAND.
——and Miss Hilda answered: “Oh, because it’s mother’s birthday.”
ELLIDA.
Mother’s——! Oh indeed.
ARNHOLM.
Aha!
[_He and_ ELLIDA _exchange glances of comprehension._
ARNHOLM.
Well, since the young man has found it out, Mrs. Wangel——
ELLIDA.
[_To_ LYNGSTRAND.] Yes, since you have found it out——
LYNGSTRAND.
[_Offers the bouquet again._] May I be permitted to offer my
congratulations——?
ELLIDA.
[_Taking the flowers._] Many thanks.—Won’t you sit down a moment, Mr.
Lyngstrand?
[ELLIDA, ARNHOLM, _and_ LYNGSTRAND _seat themselves in the
arbour._
ELLIDA.
All this about—about my birthday—was to have been a secret, Mr. Arnholm.
ARNHOLM.
So I see. It was not to have been mentioned to us outsiders.
ELLIDA.
[_Lays the bouquet on the table._] No, just so. Not to outsiders.
LYNGSTRAND.
I promise faithfully I won’t mention it to a living creature.
ELLIDA.
Oh, I didn’t mean it in that way.—But how are you now? I think you are
looking better than you did.
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes, I think I am getting on quite well. And next year, if I can get to
the south——
ELLIDA.
The girls tell me you hope to manage it.
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes; you see I have a patron in Bergen who provides for me; and he has
promised to let me go next year.
ELLIDA.
How did you come across him?
LYNGSTRAND.
Oh, it was a great stroke of luck. I once went a voyage in one of his
ships.
ELLIDA.
Did you? Then at that time you wanted to be a sailor?
LYNGSTRAND.
No, not in the least. But after my mother died, my father wouldn’t have
me hanging about at home; so he sent me to sea. On the voyage home, we
were wrecked in the English Channel; and that was a grand thing for me.
ARNHOLM.
How do you mean?
LYNGSTRAND.
It was in the wreck that I got my lesion—this weakness in my chest, you
know. I was in the ice-cold water so long before they came and rescued
me. So then I had to give up the sea—Oh yes, it was a great stroke of
luck.
ARNHOLM.
Indeed? You think so?
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes; for the lesion is nothing to speak of; and now I am to have my
heart’s desire, and to be a sculptor. Only think—to be able to model in
the delicate clay that yields so exquisitely under your fingers!
ELLIDA.
And what are you going to model? Mermen and mermaids? Or is it to be old
vikings——?
LYNGSTRAND.
No, nothing of that kind. As soon as I can manage it, I mean to have a
try at a big piece of work—a group, as they call it.
ELLIDA.
I see. And what is the group to represent?
LYNGSTRAND.
Oh, I thought of something out of my own experience.
ARNHOLM.
Yes yes,—by all means stick to that.
ELLIDA.
But what is it to be?
LYNGSTRAND.
Well, I had thought of a young woman, a sailor’s wife, lying and
sleeping in a strange unrest, and dreaming as she sleeps. I think I can
make it so that any one can see she is dreaming.
ARNHOLM.
And is that all?
LYNGSTRAND.
No. There is to be one other figure—a kind of shape you might call it.
It is the husband she has been unfaithful to while he was away. And now
he is drowned.
ARNHOLM.
Why, what do you mean——?
ELLIDA.
Drowned you say?
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes, he is drowned at sea. But the strange thing is that he has come
home nevertheless. It’s in the night-time; and there he stands by her
bedside and looks at her. He must be dripping wet, just as when they
haul you up out of the sea.
ELLIDA.
[_Leaning back in her chair._] What a strange idea! [_Closes her eyes._]
Oh, I can see it livingly before my eyes.
ARNHOLM.
But in the name of all that’s wonderful, Mr. ——! Mr. ——! You said it was
to be something out of your own experience?
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes,—this is out of my own experience; in a sense, that’s to say.
ARNHOLM.
You have seen a dead man come——?
LYNGSTRAND.
Well, I don’t mean to say I have actually seen it; not outwardly, of
course. But all the same——
ELLIDA.
[_With animation and eagerness._] Tell me all you know about this! I
want to understand it thoroughly.
ARNHOLM.
[_Smiling._] Yes, of course this is quite in your line—anything with the
glamour of the sea about it.
ELLIDA.
How was it then, Mr. Lyngstrand?
LYNGSTRAND.
Well, you see, when we were starting for home in the brig, from a town
they call Halifax, we had to leave our boatswain behind us in the
hospital; so we shipped an American in his place. This new boatswain——
ELLIDA.
The American?
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes;—one day he borrowed from the captain a bundle of old newspapers,
and was perpetually poring over them, he wanted to learn Norwegian, he
said.
ELLIDA.
Well; and then?
LYNGSTRAND.
Well, one evening it was blowing great guns. All hands were on deck—all
except the boatswain and me. For he had sprained his ankle and couldn’t
walk; and I wasn’t very well, and was lying in my bunk. Well, there he
sat in the fo’c’sle, reading away as usual at one of the old papers——
ELLIDA.
Well? well?
LYNGSTRAND.
When all of a sudden, I heard him give a kind of a roar; and when I
looked at him I saw that his face was as white as chalk. Then he set to
work to crumple and crush the paper up, and tear it into a thousand
little pieces; but that he did quietly, quietly.
ELLIDA.
Did he say nothing at all? Did he not speak?
LYNGSTRAND.
Not at first. But presently he said, as if to himself: “Married—to
another man—while I was away.”
ELLIDA.
[_Shuts her eyes, and says half to herself_:] Did he say that?
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes; and would you believe it—he said it in perfectly good Norwegian. He
must have had a great gift for languages, that man.
ELLIDA.
And what then? What happened next?
LYNGSTRAND.
Now comes the wonderful part of it—a thing I shall never forget to my
dying day. For he added,—and this quite quietly too: “But mine she is,
and mine she shall remain. And follow me she shall, though I should have
to go home and fetch her, as a drowned man from the bottom of the sea.”
ELLIDA.
[_Pouring out a glass of water; her hand shakes._] Pah—how close it is
to-day——!
LYNGSTRAND.
And he said it with such force of will that I felt he was the man to do
it too.
ELLIDA.
Do you know at all—what has become of this man?
LYNGSTRAND.
Oh he’s dead, Mrs. Wangel, beyond a doubt.
ELLIDA.
[_Hastily._] What makes you think that?
LYNGSTRAND.
We were shipwrecked afterwards in the Channel, you know. I got off in
the long-boat with the captain and five others; but the mate went in the
dingey, and with him was the American and one man besides.
ELLIDA.
And nothing has been heard of them since?
LYNGSTRAND.
No, not a word, Mrs. Wangel. My patron wrote me so, only the other day.
And that is the very reason I am so anxious to make a group of it. I can
see the sailor’s faithless wife so life-like before me; and then the
avenger, who is drowned, but nevertheless comes home from sea. I have
them both before my eyes as distinctly as possible.
ELLIDA.
So have I. [_Rising._] Come,—let us go in. Or rather down to Wangel! It
seems to me so stifling here.
_She comes out of arbour._
LYNGSTRAND.
[_Who has also risen._] I think I must be going now. I only just looked
in to wish you many happy returns of the day.
ELLIDA.
Well, if you must go——[_Holds out her hand._] Good-bye, and thanks for
the flowers.
[LYNGSTRAND _bows and goes through the garden gate, out to the
left._
ARNHOLM.
[_Rises and goes up to_ ELLIDA.] I can see that this has pained you
deeply, my dear Mrs. Wangel.
ELLIDA.
Oh yes, I suppose you may put it so, although——
ARNHOLM.
But after all, it is only what you must have been prepared for.
ELLIDA.
[_Looks at him in surprise._] Prepared for?
ARNHOLM.
Yes, so I should think.
ELLIDA.
Prepared for his returning——? Returning in such a way?
ARNHOLM.
Why, what in the world——! Is it that crazy sculptor’s cock-and-bull
story——?
ELLIDA.
Ah, my dear Arnholm, he is perhaps not so crazy as you think.
ARNHOLM.
Can it be this nonsense about the dead man that has moved you so much? I
thought it was——
ELLIDA.
What did you think?
ARNHOLM.
Of course, I thought that was only a blind on your part. I fancied you
were pained by the discovery that a family anniversary was being
celebrated without your knowledge—that your husband and his children are
living a life of memories in which you have no share.
ELLIDA.
Oh no, no; that must be as it may. I have no right to claim my husband
for myself alone.
ARNHOLM.
Yet it seems to me you ought to have that right.
ELLIDA.
Yes; but as a matter of fact I haven’t. That is the thing. I too live a
life—in which the others have no part.
ARNHOLM.
You! [_More softly._] Am I to understand that—you—you do not really love
your husband?
ELLIDA.
Oh yes, yes—I have come to love him with my whole heart! And that is
just why it is so terrible—so inexplicable—so absolutely
inconceivable——!
ARNHOLM.
Now you must tell me all your troubles without reserve! Will you not,
Mrs. Wangel?
ELLIDA.
I cannot, dear friend—not now, at any rate. Sometime, perhaps.
[BOLETTA _comes out by the verandah, and down into the garden._
BOLETTA.
Father is coming from the surgery now. Shan’t we all sit together in the
garden-room?
ELLIDA.
Yes, let us.
WANGEL, _who has changed his clothes, comes with_ HILDA _from
the left, behind the house._
WANGEL.
Well now, here I am, a free man! A glass of something cool wouldn’t come
amiss now.
ELLIDA.
Wait a moment.
[_She returns to the arbour and brings out the bouquet._
HILDA.
Oh I say! All those lovely flowers! Where did you get them?
ELLIDA.
I got them from Lyngstrand the sculptor, my dear Hilda.
HILDA.
[_Starting._] From Lyngstrand?
BOLETTA.
[_Uneasily._] Has Lyngstrand been here—again?
ELLIDA.
[_With a half-smile._] Yes. He came to bring this bouquet,—a birthday
offering, you know.
BOLETTA.
[_Glancing at Hilda._] Oh——!
HILDA.
[_Mutters._] The beast!
WANGEL.
[_In painful embarrassment, to_ ELLIDA.] H’m——. Well, you see—I must
tell you, my darling Ellida——
ELLIDA.
[_Interrupting._] Come along, girls! Let us put my flowers in water,
with the others.
[_She goes up on to the verandah._
BOLETTA.
[_Softly to_ HILDA.] She is really good after all, you see.
HILDA.
[_Half aloud, looking angry._] Monkey-tricks! She’s only putting it on
to please father.
WANGEL.
[_Up on the verandah, presses_ ELLIDA’S _hand._] Thank you—thank you——!
I thank you from my heart for this, Ellida.
ELLIDA.
[_Arranging the flowers._] Oh, nonsense,—why should I not join with you
in keeping—mother’s birthday?
ARNHOLM.
H’m——!
[_He goes up to_ WANGEL _and_ ELLIDA. BOLETTA _and_ HILDA
_remain below in the garden._
ACT SECOND.
_Up at the Prospect, a wooded height behind the town. Towards the back
stand a landmark and a weathervane. Large stones for seats are
placed round the landmark and in the foreground. Far below in the
background the outer fiord is seen, with islands and jutting
promontories. The open sea is not visible. A summer night with
clear twilight. There is a tinge of orange in the upper air and
over the mountain peaks in the far distance. The sound of
quartette-singing is faintly heard from the lower slopes on the
right._
_Young people from the town, ladies and gentlemen, come in couples up
from the right, pass the landmark conversing familiarly, and go
out to the left. Shortly afterwards_ BALLESTED _appears, acting as
guide to a party of foreign tourists. He is loaded with the
ladies’ shawls and satchels._
BALLESTED.
[_Pointing upward with his stick._] _Sehen Sie, meine Herrschaften_—over
_dort liegt eine andere_ height. _Das willen wir besteigen_ too, _un
herunter_——
[_He continues in English, and leads the party out to the
right._
HILDA _comes quickly up the slope on the right, stops, and looks
backward. Presently_ BOLETTA _comes up the same way._
BOLETTA.
My dear Hilda, why should we run away from Lyngstrand?
HILDA.
Because I can’t endure to walk up hill so slowly. Look—look at him
crawling up.
BOLETTA.
Oh, you know how ill he is.
HILDA.
Do you think it’s very serious?
BOLETTA.
Yes, I am sure it is.
HILDA.
He consulted father this afternoon. I wonder what father thinks of him.
BOLETTA.
Father told me that he has a hardening of the lungs—or something of that
sort. He won’t last very long, father says.
HILDA.
Did he really say so? Well now, that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking.
BOLETTA.
But for heaven’s sake don’t let him suspect anything.
HILDA.
Oh, how can you think I would. [_In a lower tone._] There!—now Hans has
managed to clamber up. Hans——! Can’t you see by the look of him that his
name is Hans?
BOLETTA.
[_Whispers._] Do be good now! I warn you!
LYNGSTRAND _enters from the right, a parasol in his hand._
LYNGSTRAND.
I must beg your pardon, young ladies, for not being able to keep up with
you.
HILDA.
So you have got a parasol now?
LYNGSTRAND.
It’s your mother’s. She said I might use it for a stick, as I hadn’t
brought one with me.
BOLETTA.
Are they still down there? Father and the others?
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes. Your father went into the restaurant for a moment, and the others
are sitting outside listening to the music; but they’ll come up
by-and-by, your mother said.
HILDA.
[_Who is standing looking at him._] I suppose you are very tired now?
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes, I almost think I am a little tired. I really believe I must sit
down a bit.
[_He seats himself on a stone, in front to the right._
HILDA.
[_Stands before him._] Do you know that there’s to be dancing presently,
down by the band-stand?
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes, I heard something of it.
HILDA.
I suppose you are very fond of dancing!
BOLETTA.
[_Who is wandering about picking small flowers among the heather._] Oh,
Hilda—let Mr. Lyngstrand get his breath.
LYNGSTRAND.
[_To_ HILDA.] Yes, Miss Hilda, I should like very much to dance—if only
I could.
HILDA.
Oh I see; you have never learned.
LYNGSTRAND.
No, I haven’t. But that was not what I meant. I meant that I can’t dance
on account of my chest.
HILDA.
On account of that “lesion” you spoke of?
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes, that’s it.
HILDA.
Does this “lesion” make you very unhappy?