MRS. ALVING. [Wildly.] Oswald--then you don't love me, either!

OSWALD. You I know, at any rate--

MRS. ALVING. Yes, you know me; but is that all!

OSWALD. And, of course, I know how fond you are of me, and I can't
but be grateful to you. And then you can be so useful to me, now
that I am ill.

MRS. ALVING. Yes, cannot I, Oswald? Oh, I could almost bless the
illness that has driven you home to me. For I see very plainly that
you are not mine: I have to win you.

OSWALD. [Impatiently.] Yes yes yes; all these are just so many
phrases. You must remember that I am a sick man, mother. I can't be
much taken up with other people; I have enough to do thinking about
myself.

MRS. ALVING. [In a low voice.] I shall be patient and easily
satisfied.

OSWALD. And cheerful too, mother!

MRS. ALVING. Yes, my dear boy, you are quite right. [Goes towards
him.] Have I relieved you of all remorse and self-reproach now?

OSWALD. Yes, you have. But now who will relieve me of the dread?