things. You are not cold, I hope. (Helps her.) Now we will sit
down by the stove, and be cosy. No, take this armchair; 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 and something always prevented me.

Mrs. Linde. I quite understand, dear.

Nora. It was very bad of me, Christine. Poor thing, how you must
have suffered. And he left you nothing?

Mrs. Linde. No.