Manders. A wrong?—wrong for me to entreat you as a wife to go back to your lawful husband, when you came to me half distracted and crying: "Here I am, take me!" Was that a wrong? 

 Mrs. Alving. I think it was. 

 Menders. We two do not understand one another. 

 Mrs. Alving. Not now, at all events. 

 Manders. Never—even in my most secret thoughts—have I for a moment regarded you as anything but the wife of another. 

 Mrs. Alving. Do you believe what you say? 

 Manders. Helen—! 

 Mrs. Alving. One so easily forgets one's own feelings. Manders. Not I. I am the same as I always was. 

 Mrs. Alving. Yes, yes—don't let us talk any more about the old days. You are buried up to your eyes now in committees and all sorts of business; and I am here, fighting with ghosts both without and within me. 

 Manders. I can at all events help you to get the better of those without you. After all that I have been horrified to hear you from today, I cannot conscientiously allow a young defenceless girl to remain in your house. 

 Mrs. Alving. Don't you think it would be best if we could get her settled?—by some suitable marriage, I mean. 

 Manders. Undoubtedly. I think, in any case, it would have been desirable for her. Regina is at an age now that—well, I don't know much about these things, but— 

 Mrs. Alving. Regina developed very early. 

 Manders. Yes, didn't she. I fancy I remember thinking she was remarkably well developed, bodily, at the time I prepared her for Confirmation. But, for the time being, she must in any case go home. Under her father's care—no, but of course Engstrand is not. To think that he, of all men, could so conceal the truth from me! (A knock is heard at the hall door.) 

 Mrs. Alving. Who can that be? Come in! 

 (ENGSTRAND, dressed in his Sunday clothes, appears in the doorway.) 

 Engstrand. I humbly beg pardon, but— 

 Prev. P 36/70 next