and that I was a runaway wife. One can never be too cautious with such unprincipled creatures.
Manders.
My dear—Mrs. Alving, you know that is an absurd exaggeration
Mrs. Alving.
Well well, suppose it is. My point is that your judgment as to my married life is founded upon nothing but common knowledge and report.
Manders.
I admit that. What then?
Mrs. Alving.
Well, then, Pastor Manders—I will tell you the truth. I have sworn to myself that one day you should know it—you alone!
Manders.
What is the truth, then?
Mrs. Alving.
The truth is that my husband died just as dissolute as he had lived all his days.
Manders.
[Feeling after a chair.] What do you say?
Mrs. Alving.
After nineteen years of marriage, as dissolute—in his desires at any rate—as he was before you married us.
Manders.
And those—those wild oats—those irregu-
