MRS. HEYST. But don't irritate him. Providence has placed our destiny in his hands—and he who humbleth himself shall be exalted and he who exalteth himself—well—you know what happens to him.
ELIS. I know. Listen—the galoshes—squeak, squeak, squeak! Does he mean to come in with them on? And why not? They are his own carpets.
[There are three raps on door R.]
MRS. HEYST. Elis, think of us all.
ELIS. I do, mother.
[Mrs. Heyst opens door R. Lindkvist enters, Mrs. Heyst goes out. He is an elderly man of serious, almost tragic aspect, with black bushy eyebrows. Round, black-rimmed eye-glasses. He carries a stout stick in his hand, he is dressed in black, with, fur coat, and over his shoes wears galoshes that squeak.]
LINDKVIST [After looking at Elis]. My name is Lindkvist.
ELIS [Reserved]. Heyst is my name—won't you sit down?
[Lindkvist sits in chair R. of sewing table—looks at Elis with a stern eye.]
ELIS [After a pause]. How can I be of service?