Hialmar paces backwards and forwards, pipes up vigorously, and plays a Bohemian peasant dance, but in a slow plaintive tempo, and with sentimental expression.
Hialmar.
[Breaking off the melody, holds out his left hand to Gina, and says with emotion:] Our roof may be poor and humble, Gina; but it is home. And with all my heart I say: here dwells my happiness. [He begins to play again; almost immediately after, a knocking is heard at the entrance door.
Gina.
[Rising.] Hush, Ekdal,—I think there's some one at the door.
Hialmar.
[Laying the flute on the bookcase.] There! Again! [Gina goes and opens the door.
Gregers Werle. [In the passage.] Excuse me
Gina.
[Starting back slightly.] Oh!
Gregers.
does not Mr. Ekdal, the photographer, live here?
Gina. Yes, he does.
Hialmar.
[Going towards the door.] Gregers! You here after all? Well, come in then.
