at the corked bottle.] I may come to drink champagne with gentlefolks yet.

MRS. ALVING. And if you ever need a home, Regina, come to me.

REGINA. No, thank you, ma'am. Pastor Manders will look after me, I know. And if the worst comes to the worst, I know of one house where I've every right to a place.

MRS. ALVING. Where is that?

REGINA. "Chamberlain Alving's Home."

MRS. ALVING. Regina—now I see it—you are going to your ruin.

REGINA. Oh, stuff! Goodbye. [She nods and goes out through the hall.]

OSWALD. [Stands at the window and looks out.] Is she gone?

MRS. ALVING. Yes.

OSWALD. [Murmuring aside to himself.] I think it was a mistake, this.

MRS. ALVING. [Goes up behind him and lays her hands on his shoulders.] Oswald, my dear boy—has it shaken you very much?

OSWALD. [Turns his face towards her.] All that about father, do you mean?

MRS. ALVING. Yes, about your unhappy father. I am so afraid it may have been too much for you.

OSWALD. Why should you fancy that? Of course it came upon me as a great surprise; but it can make no real difference to me.

MRS. ALVING. [Draws her hands away.] No difference! That your father was so infinitely unhappy!

OSWALD. Of course I can pity him, as I would anybody else; but—

MRS. ALVING. Nothing more! Your own father!

OSWALD. [Impatiently.] Oh, "father,"—"father"! I never knew anything of father. I remember nothing about him, except that he once made me sick.

MRS. ALVING. This is terrible to think of! Ought not a son to love his father, whatever happens?

OSWALD. When a son has nothing to thank his father for? has never known him? Do you really cling to that old 

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