Sailors have no
savoir-vivre.
Engstrand. What haven't they got?
Regina. I know what sailors are, I tell you. They aren't the sort
of people to marry.
Engstrand. Well, don't bother about marrying them. You can make
it pay just as well. (More confidentially.) That fellow--the
Englishman--the one with the yacht--he gave seventy pounds, he
did; and she wasn't a bit prettier than you.
Regina (advancing towards him). Get out!
Engstrand (stepping back). Here! here!--you're not going to hit
me, I suppose?
Regina. Yes! If you talk like that of mother, I will hit you. Get
out, I tell. You! (Pushes him up to the garden door.) And don't
bang the doors. Young Mr. Alving--
Engstrand. Is asleep--I know. It's funny how anxious you are
about young Mr. Alving. (In a lower tone.) Oho! is it possible
that it is he that--?
Regina. Get out, and be quick about it! Your wits are wandering,
my good man. No, don't go that way; Mr. Manders is just coming
along. Be off down the kitchen stairs.
Engstrand (moving towards the right).
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