All the
furniture is of wicker-work.
MRS. SOLNESS, wrapped in a large white crepe shawl, sits
resting in the arm-chair and gazes over to the right.
Shortly after, HILDA WANGEL comes up the flight of steps
from the garden. She is dressed as in the last act, and
wears her hat. She has in her bodice a little nosegay of
small common flowers.
MRS. SOLNESS.
[Turning her head a little.] Have you been round the garden, Miss
Wangel?
HILDA.
Yes, I have been taking a look at it.
MRS. SOLNESS.
And found some flowers too, I see.
HILDA.
Yes, indeed! There are such heaps of them in among the bushes.
MRS. SOLNESS.
Are there, really? Still? You see I scarcely ever go there.
HILDA.
[Closer.] What! Don't you take a run down into the garden every
day, then?
MRS. SOLNESS.
[With a faint smile.] I don't "run" anywhere, nowadays.
HILDA.
Well, but do you not go down now and then to look at all the lovely
things there?
MRS. SOLNESS.
It has all become so strange to me. I am almost afraid to see it
again.
HILDA.
Your own garden!
MRS. SOLNESS.
I don't feel that it is mine any longer.
Pages:
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136