whole winter with me. 

 Manders, Has he, really? That is very nice and filial of him; because there must be many more attractions in his life in Rome or in Paris, I should think. 

 Mrs. Alving. Yes, but he has his mother here, you see. Bless the dear boy, he has got a corner in his heart for his mother still. 

 Manders. Oh, it would be very sad if absence and preoccupation with such a thing as Art were to dull the natural affections. 

 Mrs. Alving. It would, indeed. But there is no fear of that with him, I am glad to say. I am quite curious to see if you recognise him again. He will be down directly; he is just lying down for a little on the sofa upstairs. But do sit down, my dear friend. 

 Manders. Thank you. You are sure I am not disturbing you? 

 Mrs. Alving. Of course not. (She sits down at the table.) 

 Manders. Good. Then I will show you—. (He goes to the chair where his bag is lying and takes a packet of papers from it; then sits down at the opposite side of the table and looks for a clear space to put the papers down.) Now first of all, here is—(breaks off). Tell me, Mrs. Alving, what are these books doing here? 

 Mrs. Alving. These books? I am reading them, 

 Manders. Do you read this sort of thing? 

 Mrs. Alving. Certainly I do. 

 Manders. Do you feel any the better or the happier for reading books of this kind? 

 Mrs. Alving. I think it makes me, as it were, more self-reliant. 

 Manders. That is remarkable. But why? 

 Mrs. Alving. Well, they give me an explanation or a confirmation of lots of different ideas that have come into my own mind. But what surprises me, Mr. Manders, is that, properly speaking, there is nothing at all new in these books. There is nothing more in them than what most people think and believe. The only thing is, that most people either take no account of it or won't admit it to themselves. 

 Manders. But, good heavens, do you seriously 

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