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?
Mrs. Alving.
The dread?
Oswald.
[Walks across the room.] Regina could have been got to do it.
Mrs. Alving.
I don't understand you. What is this about dread—and Regina?
Oswald.
Is it very late, mother?
