others; that was why I lied to my son, year in and year out. Oh, what a coward—what a coward I have been! Manders. You have built up a happy illusion in your son's mind, Mrs. Alving—and that is a thing you certainly ought not to undervalue. Mrs. Alving. Ah, who knows if that is such a desirable thing after all!—But anyway I don't intend to put up with any goings on with Regina. I am not going to let him get the poor girl into trouble. Manders. Good heavens, no—that would be a frightful thing! Mrs. Alving. If only I knew whether he meant it seriously, and whether it would mean happiness for him. Manders. In what way? I don't understand. Mrs. Alving. But that is impossible; Regina is not equal to it, unfortunately. Manders, I don't understand: What do you mean? Mrs. Alving. If I were not such a miserable coward, I would say to him: "Marry her, or make any arrangement you like with her—only let there be no deceit in the matter." Manders. Heaven forgive you! Are you actually suggesting anything so abominable, so unheard of, as a marriage between them! Mrs. Alving. Unheard of, do you call it? Tell me honestly, Mr. Manders, don't you suppose there are plenty of married couples out here in the country that are just as nearly related as they are? Manders. I am sure I don't understand you. Mrs. Alving. Indeed you do. Manders. I suppose you are thinking of cases where possibly—. It is only too true, unfortunately, that family life is not always as stainless as it should be. But as for the sort of thing you hint at—well, it's impossible to tell, at all events, with any certainty. Here on the other hand—for you, a mother, to be willing to allow your— Mrs. Alving. But I am not willing to allow it; I would not allow it for anything in the world; that is just what I was saying. Manders. No, because you are a coward, as you put it. But, supposing you were not a coward—! Great heavens—such a revolting union! Mrs. Alving. Well, for the matter of that, we are all descended
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