OSWALD. Why should you fancy that? Of course it came upon me as a
great surprise; but it can make no real difference to me.

MRS. ALVING. [Draws her hands away.] No difference! That your
father was so infinitely unhappy!

OSWALD. Of course I can pity him, as I would anybody else; but--

MRS. ALVING. Nothing more! Your own father!

OSWALD. [Impatiently.]Oh, "father,"--"father"! I never knew
anything of father. I remember nothing about him, except that he
once made me sick.

MRS. ALVING. This is terrible to think of! Ought not a son to love
his father, whatever happens?

OSWALD. When a son has nothing to thank his father for? has never
known him? Do you really cling to that old superstition?--you who
are so enlightened in other ways?

MRS. ALVING. Can it be only a superstition--?

OSWALD. Yes; surely you can see that, mother. It's one of those
notions that are current in the world, and so--

MRS. ALVING. [Deeply moved.] Ghosts!

OSWALD. [Crossing the room.] Yes; you may call them ghosts.