Boletta.
Why are you always so much taken up with him then?
Hilda.
Oh, that's only on account of his "lesion."
Boletta.
I have never noticed that you pity him a bit.
Hilda.
No more I do. But it's so tempting to me
Boletta.
What is?
Hilda.
To look at him, and get him to say that it's not serious, and that he's going abroad and going to be an artist. He's perfectly convinced of all that, and as happy as possible about it. And to know that nothing will come of it after all; nothing whatever; that he won't live long enough I find that so thrilling to think of.
Boletta.
Thrilling!
Hilda.
Yes. I find it thrilling—I take that liberty.
Boletta.
Fie Hilda, you are really a horrid child!
Hilda.
Well, that's what I want to be—just for spite! [Looks down.] Ah, at last! Arnholm doesn't seem
