Wangel (with a half-smile). You're a pair of sly minxes. Well--
good heavens--after all, it's but natural we should remember her
who is no more with us. Here, Hilde (Gives her his bag), take
that down to the office. No, children. I don't like this--the
way, I mean. This habit of every year--well--what can one say? I
suppose it can't be managed any other way.

Hilde (about to go out of garden, and, with the bag, stops short,
turns, and points out). Look at that gentleman coming up here.
I'm sure it's your tutor.

Bolette (looks in that direction). He? (Laughs.) That is good! Do
you think that middle-aged fellow is Arnholm?

Wangel. Wait a moment, child. Why, by Jove, I do believe it is
he. Yes, it certainly is.

Bolette (staring at him in quiet amazement). Yes; I almost think--

(ARNHOLM, in elegant morning dress, with gold spectacles, and a
thin cane, comes along the road. He looks overworked. He looks in
at the garden, bows in friendly fashion, and enters by the garden
gate.)

Wangel (going to meet him). Welcome, dear Arnholm! Heartily
welcome back to your old quarters again!

Arnholm. Thanks, thanks, Doctor Wangel. A thousand thanks. (They
shake hands and walk up the garden together.) And there are the
children! (Holds out his hands and looks at them.) I should