We must write very, very nicely
and cordially--for this horrid Ruar--or whatever his name is.
SOLNESS.
[Writes a few words, turns his head and looks at her.] Tell me one
thing, Hilda.
HILDA.
Yes!
SOLNESS.
If you have been waiting for me all these ten years---
HILDA.
What then?
SOLNESS.
Why have you never written to me? Then I could have answered you.
HILDA.
[Hastily.] No, no, no! That was just what I did not want.
SOLNESS.
Why not?
HILDA.
I was afraid the whole thing might fall to pieces.--But we were
going to write on the drawings, Mr. Solness.
SOLNESS.
So we were.
HILDA.
[Bends forward and looks over his shoulder while he writes.] Mind
now, kindly and cordially! Oh how I hate--how I hate this Ruald---
SOLNESS.
[Writing.] Have you never really cared for any one, Hilda?
HILDA.
For any one else, I suppose you mean?
SOLNESS.
[Looks up at her.] For any one else, yes. Have you never? In all
these ten years? Never?
HILDA.
Oh yes, now and then. When I was perfectly furious with you for not
coming.
SOLNESS.
Then you did take an interest in other people, too?
HILDA.
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