MRS. ALVING. Yes, you know me; but is that all!
OSWALD. And, of course, I know how fond you are of me, and I can't but
be grateful to you. And then you can be so useful to me, now that I am
ill.
MRS. ALVING. Yes, cannot I, Oswald? Oh, I could almost bless the illness
that has driven you home to me. For I see very plainly that you are not
mine: I have to win you.
OSWALD. [Impatiently.] Yes yes yes; all these are just so many phrases.
You must remember that I am a sick man, mother. I can't be much taken up
with other people; I have enough to do thinking about myself.
MRS. ALVING. [In a low voice.] I shall be patient and easily satisfied.
OSWALD. And cheerful too, mother!
MRS. ALVING. Yes, my dear boy, you are quite right. [Goes towards him.]
Have I relieved you of all remorse and self-reproach now?
OSWALD. Yes, you have. But now who will relieve me of the dread?
MRS. ALVING. The dread?
OSWALD. [Walks across the room.] Regina could have been got to do it.
MRS. ALVING. I don't understand you. What is this about dread--and
Regina?
OSWALD. Is it very late, mother?
MRS. ALVING. It is early morning. [She looks out through the
conservatory.] The day is dawning over the mountains. And the weather is
clearing, Oswald. In a little while you shall see the sun.
OSWALD. I'm glad of that. Oh, I may still have much to rejoice in and
live for--
MRS. ALVING. I should think so, indeed!