pers in order). Yes, and I must
try and read through some of these before dinner; and I must think about
your costume, too. And it is just possible I may have something ready
in gold paper to hang up on the Tree. (Puts his hand on her head.) My
precious little singing-bird! (He goes into his room and shuts the door
after him.)

Nora (after a pause, whispers). No, no--it isn't true. It's impossible;
it must be impossible.

(The NURSE opens the door on the left.)

Nurse. The little ones are begging so hard to be allowed to come in to
mamma.

Nora. No, no, no! Don't let them come in to me! You stay with them,
Anne.

Nurse. Very well, ma'am. (Shuts the door.)

Nora (pale with terror). Deprave my little children? Poison my home? (A
short pause. Then she tosses her head.) It's not true. It can't possibly
be true.

ACT II

(THE SAME SCENE.--THE Christmas Tree is in the corner by the piano,
stripped of its ornaments and with burnt-down candle-ends on its
dishevelled branches. NORA'S cloak and hat are lying on the sofa. She
is alone in the room, walking about uneasily. She stops by the sofa and
takes up her cloak.)

Nora (drops her cloak). Someone is coming now! (Goes to the door and
listens.) No--it is no one. Of course, no one will come today, Christmas
Day--nor tomorrow either. But, perhaps--(opens the door and looks out).
No, nothing in the letterbox; it is quite empty. (Comes forward.)
What rubbish! of course he can't be in earnest about it. Such a thing
couldn't happen; it is impossible--I have three little children.

(Enter the NURSE from the room on the left, carrying a big cardboard
box.)

Nurse. At last I have found the box with the fancy dress.

Nora. Thanks; put it on the table.

Nurse (doing so). But it is very much in want of mending.

Nora. I should like to tear it into a hundred thousand pieces.

Nurse. What an idea! It can easily be put in order--just a little
patience.

Nora. Yes, I will go and get Mrs. Linde to come and help me with it.

Nurse. What, out again? In this horrible weather? You will catch cold,
ma'am, and make yourself ill.

Nora. Well, worse than that might happen. How are the children?

Nurse. The poor little souls are playing with their Christmas presents,
but--

Nora. Do they ask much for me?

Nurse. You see, they are so accustomed to have their mamma with them.

Nora. Yes, but, nurse, I shall not be able to be so much with them now
as I was before.

Nurs