Regina.
I won't marry any one of that sort. Sailors have no savoir vivre.
Engstrand.
What's that they haven't got?
Regina.
I know what sailors are, I tell you. They're not the sort of people to marry.
Engstrand.
Then never mind about marrying them. You can make it pay all the same. [More confidentially.] He—the Englishman—the man with the yacht—he came down with three hundred dollars, he did; and she wasn't a bit handsomer than you.
Regina.
[Making for him.] Out you go!
Engstrand.
[Falling back.] Come, come! You're not going to hit me, I hope.
Regina.
Yes, if you begin talking about mother I shall hit you. Get away with you, I say! [Drives him back towards the garden door.] And don't slam the doors. Young Mr. Alving
Engstrand.
He's asleep; I know. You're mightily taken up about young Mr. Alving [More softly.] Oho! you don't mean to say it's him as?
Regina.
Be off this minute! You're crazy, I tell you!
