Well, I've got the sack, and so I came to see how _you_ are getting on. I mayn't be a nice man, but--[_with feeling_]--I have a heart! And, as I don't intend to give up the forged I.O.U. unless I'm taken back, I was afraid you might be contemplating suicide, or something of that kind; and so I called to tell you that, if I were you, I wouldn't. Bad thing for the complexion, suicide--and silly, too, because it wouldn't mend matters in the least. [_Kindly._] You must not take this affair too seriously, Mrs. Helmer. Get your husband to settle it amicably by taking me back as Cashier; _then_ I shall soon get the whip-hand of _him_, and we shall all be as pleasant and comfortable as possible together! NORA. Not even that prospect can tempt me! Besides, Torvald wouldn't have you back at any price now! KROGSTAD. All right, then. I have here a letter, telling your husband all. I will take the liberty of dropping it in the letter-box at your hall-door as I go out. I'll wish you good evening! [_He goes out; presently the dull sound of a thick letter dropping into a wire box is heard._ NORA. [_Softly, and hoarsely._] He's done it! How _am_ I to prevent Torvald from seeing it? HELMER. [_Inside the door, rattling._] Hasn't my lark changed its dress yet? [NORA _unbolts door._] What--so you are _not_ in fancy costume, after all? [_Enters with_ RANK.] Are there any letters for me in the box there? NORA. [_Voicelessly._] None--not even a postcard! Oh, Torvald, don't, please, go and look--_promise_ me you won't! I do _assure_ you there isn't a letter! And I've forgotten the Tarantella you taught me--do let's run over it. I'm so afraid of breaking down--promise me not to look at the letter-box. I can't dance unless you do. HELMER. [_Standing still, on his way to the letter-box._] I am a man of strict business habits, and some powers of observation; my little squirrel's assurances that there is nothing in the box, combined with her obvious anxiety that I should not go and see for myself, satisfy me that it is indeed empty, in spite of the fact that I have not invariably found her a strictly truthful little dicky-bird. There--there. [_Sits down to piano._] Bang away on your tambourine, little squirrel--dance away, my own lark! NORA. [_Dancing, with a long gay shawl._] Just _won't_ the little squirrel! Faster--faster! Oh, I _do_ feel so gay! We will have some champagne for dinner, _won't_ we, Torvald? [_Dances with more and more abandonment._ HELMER. [_After addressing frequent remarks in correction._] Come, come--not this awful wildness! I don't like to see _quite_ such a larky little lark as this.... Really it is time you stopped! NORA. [_Her hair coming down as she dances more wildly still, and swings the tambourine._] I can't.... I can't! [_To herself, as she dances._] I've only thirty-one hours left to be a bird in; and after that--[_shuddering_]--after _that_, Krogstad will let the cat out of the bag! [_Curtain._