be careful with that liqueur. It is strong.

Oswald. It's a good protective against the damp.

Mrs. Alving. Wouldn't you rather come in here?

Oswald. You know you don't like smoking in there.

Mrs. Alving. You may smoke a cigar in here, certainly.

Oswald. All right; I will come in, then. Just one drop more.
There! (Comes in, smoking a cigar, and shuts the door after him.
A short silence.) Where has the parson gone?

Mrs. Alving. I told you he had gone over to the Orphanage.

Oswald. Oh, so you did.

Mrs. Alving. You shouldn't sit so long at table, Oswald,

Oswald (holding his cigar behind his back). But it's so nice and
cosy, mother dear. (Caresses her with one hand.) Think what it
means to me--to have come home; to sit at my mother's own table,
in my mother's own room, and to enjoy the charming meals she
gives me.

Mrs. Alving. My dear, dear boy!

Oswald (a little impatiently, as he walks tip and down smoking.)
And what else is there for me to do here? I have no occupation--