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Oswald.
H'm. [The glass and decanter clink again.
Mrs. Alving.
[With a troubled glance.] Dear Oswald, you should take care of that liqueur. It is strong.
Oswald.
It keeps out the damp.
Mrs. Alving.
Wouldn't you rather come in here, to me?
Oswald.
I mayn't smoke in there.
Mrs. Alving.
You know quite well you may smoke cigars.
Oswald.
Oh, all right then; I'll come in. Just a tiny drop more first.—There! [He comes into the room with his cigar, and shuts the door after him. A short silence.] Where has the pastor gone to?
Mrs. Alving.
I have just told you; he went down to the Orphanage.
Oswald.
Oh, yes; so you did.
Mrs. Alving. You shouldn't sit so long at table, Oswald.
Oswald.
[Holding his cigar behind him.] But I find it so
