Oswald (sitting down). You don't know, mother, that I owe Regina
a little reparation.
Mrs. Alving. You!
Oswald. Oh, it was only a little thoughtlessness--call it what
you like. Something quite innocent, anyway. The last time I was
home--
Mrs. Alving. Yes?
Oswald. --she used often to ask me questions about Paris, and I
told her one thing and another about the life there. And I
remember saying one day: "Wouldn't you like to go there yourself?"
Mrs. Alving. Well?
Oswald. I saw her blush, and she said: "Yes, I should like to
very much." "All right." I said, "I daresay it might be managed"-
-or something of that sort.
Mrs. Alving. And then?
Oswald. I naturally had forgotten all about it; but the day
before yesterday I happened to ask her if she was glad I was to
be so long at home--
Mrs. Alving. Well?
Oswald. --and she looked so queerly at me, and asked: "But what
is to become of my trip to Paris? "
Mrs. Alving. Her trip!
Oswald. And then I got it out of her that she had taken the thing
seriously, and had been thinking about me all the time, and had
set herself to learn French--
Mrs.
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