MRS. ALVING. I have just told you; he went down to the Orphanage.

OSWALD. Oh, yes; so you did.

MRS. ALVING. You shouldn't sit so long at table, Oswald.

OSWALD. [Holding his cigar behind him.] But I find it so pleasant,
mother. [Strokes and caresses her.] Just think what it is for me to
come home and sit at mother's own table, in mother's room, and eat
mother's delicious dishes.

MRS. ALVING. My dear, dear boy!

OSWALD. [Somewhat impatiently, walks about and smokes.] And what
else can I do with myself here? I can't set to work at anything.

MRS. ALVING. Why can't you?

OSWALD. In such weather as this? Without a single ray of sunshine
the whole day? [Walks up the room.] Oh, not to be able to work--!

MRS. ALVING. Perhaps it was not quite wise of you to come home?

OSWALD. Oh, yes, mother; I had to.

MRS. ALVING. You know I would ten times rather forgo the joy of
having you here, than let you--

OSWALD. [Stops beside the table.] Now just tell me, mother: does it
really make you so very happy to have me home again?