Nora.
How warm it is here. And I have so much to do.
Helmer.
[Rises and gathers up his papers.] Yes, and I must try to get some of these papers looked through before dinner. And I shall think over your costume too. Perhaps I may even find something to hang in gilt paper on the Christmas-tree.
[Lays his hand on her head.] My precious little song-bird!
[He goes into his room and shuts the door.
Nora.
[Softly, after a pause.] It can't be. It's impossible. It must be impossible!
Anna.
[At the door, left] The little ones are begging so prettily to come to mamma.
Nora.
No, no, no; don't let them come to me! Keep them with you, Anna.
Anna.
Very well, ma'am. [Shuts the door
Nora.
[Pale with terror.] Corrupt my children!—Poison my home! [Short pause. She throws back her head.] It's not true! It can never, never be true!
