Oh, my dear young friend--
Oswald. Well, the son came home, then.
Mrs. Alving. Oswald is thinking of the time when you were so
opposed to the idea of his being a painter.
Manders. We are only fallible, and many steps seem to us
hazardous at first, that afterwards--(grasps his hand). Welcome,
welcome! Really, my dear Oswald--may I still call you Oswald?
Oswald. What else would you think of calling me?
Manders. Thank you. What I mean, my dear Oswald, is that you must
not imagine that I have any unqualified disapproval of the
artist's life. I admit that there are many who, even in that
career, can keep the inner man free from harm.
Oswald. Let us hope so.
Mrs. Alving (beaming with pleasure). I know one who has kept both
the inner and the outer man free from harm. Just take a look at
him, Mr. Manders.
Oswald (walks across the room). Yes, yes, mother dear, of course.
Manders. Undoubtedly--no one can deny it. And I hear you have
begun to make a name for yourself. I have often seen mention of
you in the papers--and extremely favourable mention, too.
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