_Nora_ (_to herself_). KROGSTAD's card! I must tell _another_ whopper! (_To_ RANK.) No. nothing, only--only my new costume. I want to try it on here. I always do try on my dresses in the drawing-room--it's _cosier_, you know. So go into TORVALD and amuse him till I'm ready. [RANK _goes into_ HELMER's _room, and_ NORA _bolts the door upon him, as_ KROGSTAD _enters from hall in a fur cap._ _Krogs._ 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! _Krogs._ 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._