brightens with pleasure.) Listen! Oswald is coming downstairs. We
will only think about him now.

(OSWALD ALVING, in a light overcoat, hat in hand and smoking a
big meerschaum pipe, comes in by the door on the left.)

Oswald (standing in the doorway). Oh, I beg your pardon, I
thought you were in the office. (Comes in.) Good morning, Mr.
Manders.

Manders (staring at him). Well! It's most extraordinary.

Mrs. Alving. Yes, what do you think of him, Mr. Manders?

Manders. I-I-no, can it possibly be--?

Oswald. Yes, it really is the prodigal son, Mr. Manders.

Manders. Oh, my dear young friend--

Oswald. Well, the son came home, then.

Mrs. Alving. Oswald is thinking of the time when you were so
opposed to the idea of his being a painter.

Manders. We are only fallible, and many steps seem to us
hazardous at first, that afterwards--(grasps his hand). Welcome,
welcome! Really, my dear Oswald--may I still call you Oswald?

Oswald. What else would you think of calling me?