The Lady From The Sea [33]
No, it's real enough! He'll not last long. But perhaps that's best for him.
Arnholm. Dear, why should that be best?
Bolette. Because--because--nothing would come of his art anyhow. Let's go before they come.
Arnholm. Gladly, my dear Bolette.
(HILDE and LYNGSTRAND appear by the pond.)
Hilde. Hi, hi! Won't your honours wait for us?
Arnholm. Bolette and I would rather go on a little in advance. (He and BOLETTE go out to the Left.)
Lyngstrand (laughs quietly). It's very delightful here now. Everybody goes about in pairs--always two and two together.
Hilde (looking after them). I could almost swear he's proposing to her.
Lyngstrand. Really? Have you noticed anything?
Hilde. Yes. It's not very difficult--if you keep your eyes open.
Lyngstrand. But Miss Bolette won't have him. I'm certain of that.
Hilde. No. For she thinks he's got so dreadfully old-looking, and she thinks he'll soon get bald.
Lyngstrand. It's not only because of that. She'd not have him anyhow.
Hilde. How can you know?
Lyngstrand. Well, because there's someone else she's promised to think of.
Hilde. Only to think of?
Lyngstrand. While he is away, yes.
Hilde. Oh! then I suppose it's you she's to think of.
Lyngstrand. Perhaps it might be.
Hilde. She promised you that?
Lyngstrand. Yes--think--she promised me that! But mind you don't tell her you know.
Hilde. Oh! I'll be mum! I'm as secret as the grave.
Lyngstrand. I think it's awfully kind of her.
Hilde. And when you come home again--are you going to be engaged to her, and then marry her?
Lyngstrand. No, that wouldn't very well do. For I daren't think of such a thing during the first years. And when I shall be able to, she'll be rather too old for me, I fancy.
Hilde. And yet you wish her to think of you?
Lyngstrand. Yes; that's so useful to me. You see, I'm an artist. And she can very well do it, because she herself has no real calling. But all the same, it's kind of her.
Hilde. Do you think you'll be able to get on more quickly with your work if you know that Bolette is here thinking of you?
Lyngstrand. Yes, I fancy so. To know there is a spot on earth where a young, gentle, reserved woman is quietly dreaming about you--I fancy it must be so--so-well, I really don't exactly know what to call it.
Hilde. Perhaps you mean--fascinating?
Lyngstrand. Fascinating! Oh, yes! Fascinating was what I meant, or something like it. (Looks at her for a moment.) You are so clever, Miss Hilde. Really you are very clever. When I come home again you'll be about the same age as your sister is now. Perhaps, too, you'll look like your sister looks now. And perhaps, too, you'll be of the same mind she is now. Then, perhaps, you'll be both yourself and your sister--in one form, so to say.
Hilde. Would you like that?
Lyngstrand. I hardly know. Yes; I almost think I should. But now, for this summer, I would rather you were like yourself alone, and exactly as you are.
Hilde. Do you like me best as I am?
Lyngstrand. Yes, I like you immensely as you are.
Hilde. Hm. Tell me, you who are an artist, do you think I'm right always to wear bright-coloured summer dresses?
Lyngstrand. Yes; I think you're quite right!
Hilde. You think bright colours suit me, then?
Lyngstrand. They suit you charmingly--to my taste.
Hilde. But tell me, as an artist, how do you think I should look in black?
Lyngstrand. In black, Miss Hilde?
Hilde. Yes, all in black. Do you think I should look well?
Lyngstrand. Black's hardly suitable for the summer. However, you'd probably look remarkably well in black, especially with your appearance.
Hilde (looking straight in front of her). All in black, up to the throat; black frilling round that, black gloves, and a long black veil hanging down behind.
Lyngstrand. If you were dressed so, Miss Hilde, I should wish I were a painter, and I'd paint you as a young, beautiful, sorrowing widow!
Hilde. Or as a young, sorrowing, betrothed girl!
Lyngstrand. Yes, that would be better still. But you can't
Arnholm. Dear, why should that be best?
Bolette. Because--because--nothing would come of his art anyhow. Let's go before they come.
Arnholm. Gladly, my dear Bolette.
(HILDE and LYNGSTRAND appear by the pond.)
Hilde. Hi, hi! Won't your honours wait for us?
Arnholm. Bolette and I would rather go on a little in advance. (He and BOLETTE go out to the Left.)
Lyngstrand (laughs quietly). It's very delightful here now. Everybody goes about in pairs--always two and two together.
Hilde (looking after them). I could almost swear he's proposing to her.
Lyngstrand. Really? Have you noticed anything?
Hilde. Yes. It's not very difficult--if you keep your eyes open.
Lyngstrand. But Miss Bolette won't have him. I'm certain of that.
Hilde. No. For she thinks he's got so dreadfully old-looking, and she thinks he'll soon get bald.
Lyngstrand. It's not only because of that. She'd not have him anyhow.
Hilde. How can you know?
Lyngstrand. Well, because there's someone else she's promised to think of.
Hilde. Only to think of?
Lyngstrand. While he is away, yes.
Hilde. Oh! then I suppose it's you she's to think of.
Lyngstrand. Perhaps it might be.
Hilde. She promised you that?
Lyngstrand. Yes--think--she promised me that! But mind you don't tell her you know.
Hilde. Oh! I'll be mum! I'm as secret as the grave.
Lyngstrand. I think it's awfully kind of her.
Hilde. And when you come home again--are you going to be engaged to her, and then marry her?
Lyngstrand. No, that wouldn't very well do. For I daren't think of such a thing during the first years. And when I shall be able to, she'll be rather too old for me, I fancy.
Hilde. And yet you wish her to think of you?
Lyngstrand. Yes; that's so useful to me. You see, I'm an artist. And she can very well do it, because she herself has no real calling. But all the same, it's kind of her.
Hilde. Do you think you'll be able to get on more quickly with your work if you know that Bolette is here thinking of you?
Lyngstrand. Yes, I fancy so. To know there is a spot on earth where a young, gentle, reserved woman is quietly dreaming about you--I fancy it must be so--so-well, I really don't exactly know what to call it.
Hilde. Perhaps you mean--fascinating?
Lyngstrand. Fascinating! Oh, yes! Fascinating was what I meant, or something like it. (Looks at her for a moment.) You are so clever, Miss Hilde. Really you are very clever. When I come home again you'll be about the same age as your sister is now. Perhaps, too, you'll look like your sister looks now. And perhaps, too, you'll be of the same mind she is now. Then, perhaps, you'll be both yourself and your sister--in one form, so to say.
Hilde. Would you like that?
Lyngstrand. I hardly know. Yes; I almost think I should. But now, for this summer, I would rather you were like yourself alone, and exactly as you are.
Hilde. Do you like me best as I am?
Lyngstrand. Yes, I like you immensely as you are.
Hilde. Hm. Tell me, you who are an artist, do you think I'm right always to wear bright-coloured summer dresses?
Lyngstrand. Yes; I think you're quite right!
Hilde. You think bright colours suit me, then?
Lyngstrand. They suit you charmingly--to my taste.
Hilde. But tell me, as an artist, how do you think I should look in black?
Lyngstrand. In black, Miss Hilde?
Hilde. Yes, all in black. Do you think I should look well?
Lyngstrand. Black's hardly suitable for the summer. However, you'd probably look remarkably well in black, especially with your appearance.
Hilde (looking straight in front of her). All in black, up to the throat; black frilling round that, black gloves, and a long black veil hanging down behind.
Lyngstrand. If you were dressed so, Miss Hilde, I should wish I were a painter, and I'd paint you as a young, beautiful, sorrowing widow!
Hilde. Or as a young, sorrowing, betrothed girl!
Lyngstrand. Yes, that would be better still. But you can't