your hand on it. Come, come, what is this? Give me your hand. There now, that’s settled. I assure you it would be quite impossible for me to work with him; I literally feel physically ill when I am in the company of such people.

NORA [takes her hand out of his and goes to the opposite side of the Christmas tree]. How hot it is in here, and I have such a lot to do.

HEL. [getting up and putting his papers in order]. Yes, and I must try and read through some of these before dinner, and I must think about your costume too. And it is just possible I may have something ready in gold paper to hang up on the tree. [Puts his hand on her head.] My precious little singing bird! [He goes into his room and shuts the door after him.]

NORA [after a pause, whispers]. No, no—it isn’t true. It’s impossible; it must be impossible.

[The Nurse opens the door on the left.]

NURSE. The little ones are begging so hard to be allowed to come in to Mamma.

NORA. No, no, no! Don’t let them come in to me! You stay with them, Anne.

NURSE. Very well, ma’am. [Shuts the door.]

NORA [pale with terror]. Deprave my little children? Poison my home? [A short pause. Then she tosses her head.] It’s not true. It can’t possibly be true.