Manders. An uneasy conscience? What do you mean?

Mrs. Alving. I had always before me the fear that it was impossible
that the truth should not come out and be believed. That is why the
Orphanage is to exist, to silence all rumours and clear away all doubt.

Manders. You certainly have not fallen short of the mark in that, Mrs.
Alving.

Mrs. Alving. I had another very good reason. I did not wish Oswald, my
own son, to inherit a penny that belonged to his father.

Manders. Then it is with Mr. Alving's property.

Mrs. Alving. Yes. The sums of money that, year after year, I have given
towards this Orphanage, make up the amount of property--I have reckoned
it carefully--which in the old days made Lieutenant Alving a catch.

Manders. I understand.

Mrs. Alving. That was my purchase money. I don't wish it to pass into
Oswald's hands. My son shall have everything from me, I am determined.

(OSWALD comes in by the farther door on the right. He has left his hat
and coat outside.)

Mrs. Alving. Back again, my own dear boy?

Oswald. Yes, what can one do outside in this everlasting rain? I hear
dinner is nearly ready. That's good!

(REGINA comes in front the dining-room, carrying a parcel.)

Regina. This parcel has come for you, ma'am. (Gives it to her.)

Mrs. Alving (glancing at MANDERS). The ode to be sung tomorrow, I
expect.

Manders. Hm--!

Regina. And dinner is ready.

Mrs. Alving. Good. We will come in a moment. I will just--(begins to
open the parcel).

Regina (to OSWALD). Will you drink white or red wine, sir?

Oswald. Both, Miss Engstrand.

Regina. Bien--very good, Mr. Alving. (Goes into the dining-room.)

Oswald. I may as well help you to uncork it--. (Follows her into the
dining-room, leaving the door ajar after him.)

Mrs. Alving. Yes, I thought so. Here is the ode, Mr Manders.

Manders (clasping his hands). How shall I ever have the courage
tomorrow to speak the address that--

Mrs. Alving. Oh, you will get through it.

Manders (in a low voice, fearing to be heard in the dining room). Yes,
we must raise no suspicions.

Mrs. Alving (quietly but firmly). No; and then this long dreadful
comedy will be at an end. After tomorrow, I shall feel as if my dead
husband had never lived in this house. There will be no one else here
then but my boy and his mother.

(From the dining-room is heard the noise of a chair falling; then
REGINA'S voice is heard in a loud whisper: Oswald! Are you mad? Let