Mrs. Alving. You mustn't get too heated, Oswald; you gain nothing
by that.

Oswald. No, you are quite right, mother. Besides, it isn't good
for me. It's because I am so infernally tired, you know. I will
go out and take a turn before dinner. I beg your pardon, Mr.
Manders. It is impossible for you to realise the feeling; but it
takes me that way (Goes out by the farther door on the right.)

Mrs. Alving. My poor boy!

Manders. You may well say so. This is what it has brought him to!
(MRS. ALVING looks at him, but does not speak.) He called himself
the prodigal son. It's only too true, alas--only too true! (MRS.
ALVING looks steadily at him.) And what do you say to all this?

Mrs. Alving. I say that Oswald was right in every single word he
said.

Manders. Right? Right? To hold such principles as that?

Mrs. Alving. In my loneliness here I have come to just the same
opinions as he, Mr. Manders. But I have never presumed to venture
upon such topics in conversation. Now there is no need; my boy
shall speak for me.

Manders. You deserve the deepest pity, Mrs. Alving. It is my duty
to say an earnest word to you. It is no longer your businessman
and adviser, no longer your old friend and your dead husband's
old friend, that stands before you now. It is your priest that