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Borkman.
[Nodding.] When it is loosened. The hammer-strokes that loosen it are the midnight bell clanging to set it free; and that is why the metal sings—in its own way—for gladness. Frida. Why does it do that, Mr. Borkman? Borkman. It wants to come up into the light of day and serve mankind. [He paces up and down the gallery, always with his hands behind his back.
Frida.
[Sits waiting a little, then looks at her watch and, rises.] I beg your pardon, Mr. Borkman; but I am afraid I must go.
Borkman.
[Stopping before her.] Are you going already?
Frida.
[Putting her music in its case.] I really must. [Visibly embarrassed.] I have an engagement this evening.
Borkman.
For a party?
Frida.
Yes.
