BORKMAN. I am a miner's son, you know. Or perhaps you did not know? FRIDA. No, Mr. Borkman. BORKMAN. A miner's son. And my father used sometimes to take me with him into the mines. The metal sings down there. FRIDA. Really? Sings? BORKMAN. [Nodding.] When it is loosened. The hammer-strokes that loosen it are the midnight bell clanging to set it free; and that is why the metal sings--in its own way--for gladness. FRIDA. Why does it do that, Mr. Borkman? BORKMAN. It wants to come up into the light of day and serve mankind. [He paces up and down the gallery, always with his hands behind his back. FRIDA. [Sits waiting a little, then looks at her watch and rises.] I beg your pardon, Mr. Borkman; but I am afraid I must go. BORKMAN. [Stopping before her.] Are you going already? FRIDA. [Putting her music in its case.] I really must. [Visibly embarrassed.] I have an engagement this evening. BORKMAN. For a party? FRIDA. Yes. BORKMAN. And you are to play before the company? FRIDA. [Biting her lip.] No; at least I am only to play for dancing. BORKMAN.