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Nora.
Do you think they do? Do you believe they would forget their mother if she went quite away?
Anna. Gracious me! Quite away?
Nora.
Tell me, Anna—I've so often wondered about it—how could you bring yourself to give your child up to strangers?
Anna.
I had to when I came to nurse my little Miss Nora.
Nora.
But how could you make up your mind to it?
Anna.
When I had the chance of such a good place? A poor girl who's been in trouble must take what comes. That wicked man did nothing for me.
Nora.
But your daughter must have forgotten you.
Anna.
Oh, no, ma'am, that she hasn't. She wrote to me both when she was confirmed and when she was married.
Nora.
[Embracing her.] Dear old Anna—you were a good mother to me when I was little.
