The cab, Miss--not here! [_Looks out._] Out together--at this time of night--upon my--_not_ on the garden seat? [_Looks out of window._] My goodness! _what_ is that white thing on the bridge--the _Horse_ at last! [_Shrieks aloud._] And those two sinful creatures running home! [_Enter_ ROSMER _and_ REBECCA, _out of breath_. ROSMER. [_Scarcely able to get the words out._] It's no use, Rebecca--we must put it off till another evening. We can't be expected to jump off a footbridge which already has a White Horse on it. And if it comes to that, why should we jump at all? I know now that I really _have_ ennobled you, which was all I wanted. What would be the good of recovering faith in my mission at the bottom of a mill-pond? No, Rebecca--[_Lays his hand on her head_]--there is no judge over us, and therefore---- REBECCA. [_Interrupting gravely._] We will bind ourselves over in our own recognisances to come up for judgment when called upon. [MADAM HELSETH _holds on to a chair-back._ REBECCA _finishes the antimacassar calmly as Curtain falls_. * * * * * NORA; OR, THE BIRD-CAGE (ET DIKKISVÖET) ACT FIRST _A room tastefully filled with cheap Art-furniture. Gimcracks in an étagerè: a festoon of chenille monkeys hanging from the gaselier. Japanese fans, skeletons, cotton-wool spiders, frogs and lizards, scattered everywhere about. Drain-pipes with tall dyed grasses. A porcelain stove decorated with transferable pictures. Showily-bound books in book-case. Window. The Visitor's bell rings in the hall outside. The hall-door is heard to open, and then to shut. Presently_ NORA _walks in with parcels; a porter carries a large Christmas-tree after her--which he puts down_. NORA _gives him a shilling--and he goes out grumbling_. NORA _hums contentedly, and eats macaroons. Then_ HELMER _puts his head out of his Manager's room, and_ NORA _hides macaroons cautiously_. HELMER. [_Playfully._] Is that my little squirrel twittering--that my lark frisking in here? NORA. Ess! [_To herself._] I have only been married eight years, so these marital amenities have not yet had time to pall! HELMER. [_Threatening with his finger._] I hope the little bird has surely not been digging its beak into any macaroons, eh? NORA. [_Bolting one, and wiping her mouth._] No, most certainly not. [_To herself_] The worst of being so babyish is--one _does_ have to tell such a lot of taradiddles! [_To_ HELMER.] See what I've bought--it's been _such_ fun! [_Hums._ HELMER. [_Inspecting parcels._] H'm--rather an _expensive_ little lark! [_Takes her playfully by the ear._ NORA. Little birds like to have a flutter occasionally. Which reminds me---- [_Plays with his coat-buttons._] I'm such a simple ickle sing--but if you _are_ thinking of giving me a Christmas present, make it cash! HELMER.