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Nora.
For myself! Oh, I don't want anything.
Helmer.
Nonsense! Just tell me something sensible you would like to have.
Nora.
No, really I don't know of anything—Well, listen, Torvald
Helmer.
Well?
Nora.
[Playing with his coat-buttons, without looking him in the face.] If you really want to give me something, you might, you know—you might
Helmer.
Well? Out with it!
Nora.
[Quickly.] You might give me money, Torvald. Only just what you think you can spare; then I can buy something with it later on.
Helmer.
But, Nora
Nora.
Oh, please do, dear Torvald, please do! I should hang the money in lovely gilt paper on the Christmas-tree. Wouldn't that be fun?
Helmer.
What do they call the birds that are always making the money fly?
