MRS. ALVING. Your poor father found no outlet for the overpowering
joy of life that was in him. And I brought no brightness into his
home.

OSWALD. Not even you?

MRS. ALVING. They had taught me a great deal about duties and so
forth, which I went on obstinately believing in. Everything was
marked out into duties--into my duties, and his duties, and--I
am afraid I made his home intolerable for your poor father, Oswald.

OSWALD. Why have you never spoken of this in writing to me?

MRS. ALVING. I have never before seen it in such a light that I
could speak of it to you, his son.

OSWALD. In what light did you see it, then?

MRS. ALVING. [Slowly.] I saw only this one thing: that your father
was a broken-down man before you were born.

OSWALD. [Softly.] Ah--! [He rises and walks away to the window.]

MRS. ALVING. And then; day after day, I dwelt on the one thought
that by rights Regina should be at home in this house--just like my
own boy.

OSWALD. [Turning round quickly.] Regina--!