Helmer.
Too late.
Nora.
Yes, too late.
Helmer.
My dear Nora, I forgive your anxiety, though it's anything but flattering to me. Why should you suppose that I would be afraid of a wretched scribbler's spite? But I forgive you all the same, for it's a proof of your great love for me. [Takes her in his arms.] That's as it should be, my own dear Nora. Let what will happen—when it comes to the pinch, I shall have strength and courage enough. You shall see: my shoulders are broad enough to bear the whole burden.
Nora.
[Terror-struck.] What do you mean by that?
Helmer.
The whole burden, I say
Nora.
[With decision.] That you shall never, never do!
Helmer.
Very well; then we'll share it, Nora, as man and wife. That is how it should be. [Petting her.] Are you satisfied now? Come, come, come, don't look like a scared dove. It's all nothing—foolish fancies.—Now you ought to play the tarantella through and practise with the tambourine. I shall sit in my inner room and shut both doors, so that I shall hear nothing. You can make as much noise as you please. [Turns
