Through the large panes of glass that form the outer wall
of the conservatory, a gloomy fjord landscape can be discerned,
half-obscured by steady rain.
ENGSTRAND is standing close to the garden door. His left leg
is slightly deformed, and he wears a boot with a clump of wood
under the sole. REGINA, with an empty garden-syringe in her hand,
is trying to prevent his coming in.)
Regina (below her breath). What is it you want? Stay where you
are. The rain is dripping off you,
Engstrand. God's good rain, my girl.
Regina. The Devil's own rain, that's what it is!
Engstrand. Lord, how you talk, Regina. (Takes a few limping steps
forward.) What I wanted to tell you was this--
Regina. Don't clump about like that, stupid! The young master is
lying asleep upstairs.
Engstrand. Asleep still? In the middle of the day?
Regina. Well, it's no business of yours.
Engstrand. I was out on a spree last night--
Regina. I don't doubt it.
Engstrand. Yes, we are poor weak mortals, my girl--
Regina. We are indeed.
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