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Sitting-room at Rosmershölm, with a stove, flower-stand, windows, ancient and modern ancestors, doors, and everything handsome about it. Rebecca West is sitting knitting a large antimacassar which is nearly finished. Now and then she looks out of a window, and smiles and nods expectantly to someone outside. Madam Helseth is laying the table for supper.

Rebecca.

[Folding up her work slowly.] But tell me precisely, what about this white horse?

[Smiling quietly.

Madam Helseth.

Lord forgive you, Miss!—[fetching cruet-stand, and placing it on table]—but you're making fun of me!

Rebecca.

[Gravely.] No, indeed. Nobody makes fun at Rosmershölm. Mr. Rosmer would not understand it. [Shutting window.] Ah, here is Rector Kroll. [Opening door.] You will stay to supper, will you not, Rector, and I will tell them to give us some little extra dish.

Kroll.

[Hanging up his hat in the hall.] Many thanks. [Wipes his boots.] May I come in? [Comes in, puts down his stick, sits down, and looks about him.] And how do you and Rosmer get on together, eh?

Rebecca.

Ever since your sister, Beata, went mad and jumped into the mill-race, we have been as happy as two little birds together. [After a pause, sitting down in arm-chair.] So you don't really mind my living here all alone with Rosmer? We were afraid you might, perhaps.

Kroll.

Why, how on earth—on the contrary, I shouldn't object at all if you—[looks at her meaningly]—h'm!

Rebecca.

[Interrupting, gravely.] For shame, Rector; how can you make such jokes?

Kroll.

[As if surprised.] Jokes! We do not joke in these parts—but here is Rosmer.

[Enter Rosmer, gently and softly.

Rosmer.

So, my dear old friend, you have come again, after a year's absence. [Sits down.] We almost thought that——

Kroll.

[Nods.] So Miss West was saying—but you are quite mistaken. I merely thought I might remind you, if I came, of our poor Beata's suicide, so I kept away. We Norwegians are not without our simple tact.

Rosmer.

It was considerate—but unnecessary. Reb—I mean, Miss West—and I often allude to the incident, do we not?

Rebecca.

[Strikes Tändstickor.] Oh yes, indeed. [Lighting lamp.] Whenever we feel a little more cheerful than usual.

Kroll.

You dear good people! [Wanders up the room.] I came because the Spirit of Revolt has crept into my School. A Secret Society has existed for weeks in the Lower Third! To-day it has come to my knowledge that a booby trap was prepared for me by the hand of my own son, Laurits, and I then discovered that a hair had been inserted in my cane by my daughter Hilda! The only way in which a right-minded Schoolmaster can combat this anarchic and subversive spirit is to start a newspaper, and I thought that you, as a weak, credulous, inexperienced and impressionable kind of man, were the very person to be the Editor.

[Rebecca laughs softly, as if to herself. Rosmer jumps up and sits down again.

Rebecca.

[With a look at Rosmer.] Tell him now!

Rosmer.

[Returning the look.] I can't—Some other evening. Well, perhaps—— [To Kroll.] I can't be your Editor—because [in a low voice] I—I am on the side of Laurits and Hilda!

Kroll.

[Looks from one to the other, gloomily.] H'm!

Rosmer.

Yes. Since we last met, I have changed my views. I am going to create a new democracy, and awaken it to its true task of making all the people of this country noblemen, by freeing their wills, and purifying their minds!

Kroll.

What do you mean!

[Takes up his hat.

Rosmer.

[Bowing his head.] I don't quite know, my dear friend; it was Reb—— I should say Miss West's scheme.

Kroll.

H'm! [A suspicion appears in his face.] Now I begin to believe that what Beata said about schemes—— no matter. But under the circumstances, I will not stay to supper.

[Takes up his stick, and walks out.

Rosmer.

I told you he would be annoyed. I shall go to bed now. I don't want any supper. [He lights a candle, and goes out; presently his footsteps are heard overhead, as he undresses. Rebecca pulls a bell-rope.

Rebecca.

[To Madam Helseth, who enters with dishes.] No, Mr. Rosmer will not have supper to-night. [In a lighter tone.] Perhaps he is afraid of the nightmare. There are so many sorts of White Horses in this world!

Madam Helseth.

[Shaking.] Lord! lord! that Miss West—the things she does say!

[Rebecca goes out through door, knitting antimacassar thoughtfully, as Curtain falls.