_Nora_. Is it so long since we met? I suppose it is. The last eight
years have been a happy time for me, I can tell you. And so now you have
come into the town, and have taken this long journey in winter--that was
plucky of you.

_Mrs. Linde_. I arrived by steamer this morning.

_Nora_. To have some fun at Christmas-time, of course. How delightful!
We will have such fun together! But take off your things. You are not
cold, I hope. (_Helps her_.) Now we will sit down by the stove, and be
cosy. No, take this arm-chair; I will sit here in the rocking-chair.
(_Takes her hands_.) Now you look like your old self again; it was only
the first moment--You are a little paler, Christine, and perhaps a
little thinner.

_Mrs. Linde_. And much, much older, Nora.

_Nora_. Perhaps a little older; very, very little; certainly not much.
(_Stops suddenly and speaks seriously_.) What a thoughtless creature I
am, chattering away like this. My poor, dear Christine, do forgive me.

_Mrs. Linde_. What do you mean, Nora?

_Nora_ (_gently_). Poor Christine, you are a widow.

_Mrs. Linde_. Yes; it is three years ago now.

_Nora_. Yes, I knew; I saw it in the papers. I assure you, Christine, I
meant ever so often to write to you at the time, but I always put it off