_Brack_ (_holding his hat and dropping his eye-glass_). Sincerest thanks. Still the same graceful manners, dear little Mrs. HED--TESMAN! I came to invite dear TESMAN to a little bachelor-party to celebrate his return from his long honeymoon. It is customary in Scandinavian society. It will be a lively affair, for I am a gay Norwegian dog. _George._ Asked out--without my wife! Think of that! Eh? Oh, dear me, yes, _I_'ll come! _Brack._ By the way, LÖVBORG is here; he has written a wonderful book, which has made a quite extraordinary sensation. Bless me, yes! _George._ LÖVBORG--fancy! Well, I _am_--glad. Such marvellous gifts! And I was so painfully certain he had gone to the bad. Fancy that, eh? But what will become of him _now_, poor fellow, eh? I _am_ so anxious to know! _Brack._ Well, he may possibly put up for the Professorship against you, and, though you _are_ an uncommonly clever man of letters--for a Norwegian--it's not wholly improbable that he may cut you out! _George._ But, look here, good Lord, Judge BRACK!--(_gesticulating_)--that would show an incredible want of consideration for me! I married on my chance of _getting_ that Professorship. A man like LÖVBORG, too, who hasn't even been respectable, eh? One doesn't do such things as that! _Brack._ Really? You forget we are all realistic and unconventional persons here, and do all kinds of odd things. But don't worry yourself! [_He goes out._ _George_ (_to Hedda_). Oh, I say, HEDDA, what's to become of our Fairyland now, eh? We can't have a liveried servant, or give dinner-parties, or have a horse for riding. Fancy that! _Hedda_ (_slowly, and wearily_). No, we shall really have to set up as Fairies in reduced circumstances, now. _George_ (_cheering up_). Still, we shall see Aunt JULIE every day, and _that_ will be something, and I've got back my old slippers. We shan't be altogether without some amusements, eh? _Hedda_ (_crosses the floor_). Not while I have _one_ thing to amuse myself with, at all events. _George_ (_beaming with joy_). Oh, Heaven be praised and thanked for that! My goodness, so you have! And what may _that_ be, HEDDA, eh? _Hedda_ (_at the doorway, with suppressed scorn_). Yes, GEORGE, you have the old slippers of the attentive Aunt, and I have the horse-pistols of the deceased General! _George_ (_in an agony_). The pistols! Oh, my goodness! _what_ pistols? _Hedda_ (_with cold eyes_). General GABLER'S pistols--same which I shot--(_recollecting herself_)--no, that's THACKERAY, not IBSEN--a _very_ different person. [_She goes through the back Drawing-room._ _George_ (_at doorway, shouting after her_). Dearest HEDDA, _not_ those dangerous things, eh? Why, they have never once been known to shoot straight yet! Don't! Have a catapult. For _my_ sake, have a catapult! [_Curtain._ * * * * * Bow-Wow!