_Helmer_. Why? ain't you my lil' lark--ain't thish our lil' cage?
Ver-_well_, then. (_A ring._) RANK! confound it all! (_Enter
Dr. RANK._) RANK, dear old boy, you've been (_hiccoughs_) going it
upstairs. Cap'tal champagne, eh? _'Shamed_ of you, RANK! [_He sits
down on sofa, and closes his eyes gently._

_Rank_. Did you notice it? (_with pride_). It was almost incredible
the amount I contrived to put away. But I shall suffer for it
to-morrow (_gloomily_). Heredity again! I wish I was dead! I do.

_Nora_. Don't apologise. TORVALD was just as bad; but he is always so
good-tempered after champagne.

_Rank_. Ah, well, I just looked in to say that I haven't long to live.
Don't weep for me, Mrs. HELMER, it's chronic--and hereditary too. Here
are my P.P.C. cards. I'm a fading flower. Can you oblige me with a
cigar?

_Nora_ (_with a suppressed smile_). Certainly. Let me give you a
light?

[_RANK lights his cigar, after several ineffectual attempts,
and goes out._

_Helmer_ (_compassionately_). Poo' old RANK--he'sh very bad
to-ni'! (_Pulls himself together._) But I forgot--Bishness--I mean,
bu-si-ness--mush be 'tended to. I'll go and see if there are any
letters. (_Goes to box._) Hallo! someone's been at the lock with a
hairpin--it's one of _your_ hairpins! [_Holding it out to her._