MANDERS. Aha--then that accounts for it!
MRS. ALVING. For what?
MANDERS. When Oswald appeared there, in the doorway, with the pipe in
his mouth, I could have sworn I saw his father, large as life.
OSWALD. No, really?
MRS. ALVING. Oh, how can you say so? Oswald takes after me.
MANDERS. Yes, but there is an expression about the corners of the
mouth--something about the lips--that reminds one exactly of Alving: at
any rate, now that he is smoking.
MRS. ALVING. Not in the least. Oswald has rather a clerical curve about
his mouth, I think.
MANDERS. Yes, yes; some of my colleagues have much the same expression.
MRS. ALVING. But put your pipe away, my dear boy; I won't have smoking
in here.
OSWALD. [Does so.] By all means. I only wanted to try it; for I once
smoked it when I was a child.
MRS. ALVING. You?
OSWALD. Yes. I was quite small at the time. I recollect I came up to
father's room one evening when he was in great spirits.
MRS. ALVING. Oh, you can't recollect anything of those times.
OSWALD. Yes, I recollect it distinctly. He took me on his knee, and gave
me the pipe. "Smoke, boy," he said; "smoke away, boy!" And I smoked
as hard as I could, until I felt I was growing quite pale, and the
perspiration stood in great drops on my forehead. Then he burst out
laughing heartily--
MANDERS. That was most extraordinary.
MRS. ALVING. My dear friend, it's only something Oswald has dreamt.
OSWALD. No, mother, I assure you I didn't dream it. For--don't you
remember this?--you came and carried me out into the nursery. Then I
was sick, and I saw that you were crying.--Did father often play such
practical jokes?