Mrs. Alving. It's a funny thing that you should just have happened to speak about that today— 

 Manders. I have often meant to ask you about it. 

 Mrs. Alving. —because yesterday we very nearly had a fire up there. 

 Manders. Do you mean it! 

 Mrs. Alving. Oh, as a matter of fact it was nothing of any consequence. Some shavings in the carpenter's shop caught fire. 

 Manders. Where Engstrand works? 

 Mrs. Alving. Yes. They say he is often so careless with matches. 

 Manders. He has so many things on his mind, poor fellow—so many anxieties. Heaven be thanked, I am told he is really making an effort to live a blameless life. 

 Mrs. Alving. Really? Who told you so? 

 Manders. He assured me himself that it is so. He's good workman, too. 

 Mrs. Alving. Oh, yes, when he is sober. 

 Manders. Ah, that sad weakness of his! But the pain in his poor leg often drives him to it, he tells me. The last time he was in town, I was really quite touched by him. He came to my house and thanked me so gratefully for getting him work here, where he could have the chance of being with Regina. 

 Mrs. Alving. He doesn't see very much of her. 

 Manders. But he assured me that he saw her every day. 

 Mrs. Alving. Oh well, perhaps he does. 

 Manders. He feels so strongly that he needs someone who can keep a hold on him when temptations assail him. That is the most winning thing about Jacob Engstrand; he comes to one like a helpless child and accuses himself and confesses his frailty. The last time he came and had a talk with me... Suppose now, Mrs. Alving, that it were really a necessity of his existence to have Regina at home with him again— 

 Mrs. Alving (standing up suddenly). Regina! 

 Manders. —you ought not to set yourself against him. 

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