REGINA. [_Looks at him in surprise._] There is Mrs. Alving’s glass, Mr. Alving. OSWALD. Yes, but bring one for yourself, Regina. [_REGINA starts and gives a lightning-like side glance at MRS. ALVING._] Why do you wait? REGINA. [_Softly and hesitatingly._] Is it Mrs. Alving’s wish? MRS. ALVING. Bring the glass, Regina. [_REGINA goes out into the dining-room._ OSWALD. [_Follows her with his eyes._] Have you noticed how she walks?—so firmly and lightly! MRS. ALVING. This can never be, Oswald! OSWALD. It’s a settled thing. Can’t you see that? It’s no use saying anything against it. [_REGINA enters with an empty glass, which she keeps in her hand._ OSWALD. Sit down, Regina. [_REGINA looks inquiringly at Mrs. Alving._ MRS. ALVING. Sit down. [_REGINA sits on a chair by the dining-room door, still holding the empty glass in her hand._] Oswald—what were you saying about the joy of life? OSWALD. Ah, the joy of life, mother—that’s a thing you don’t know much about in these parts. I have never felt it here. MRS. ALVING. Not when you are with me? OSWALD. Not when I’m at home. But you don’t understand that. MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes; I think I almost understand it—now. OSWALD. And then, too, the joy of work! At bottom, it’s the same thing. But that, too, you know nothing about. MRS. ALVING. Perhaps you are right. Tell me more about it, Oswald. OSWALD. I only mean that here people are brought up to believe that work is a curse and a punishment for sin, and that life is something miserable, something it would be best to have done with, the sooner the better. MRS. ALVING. “A vale of tears,” yes; and we certainly do our best to make it one. OSWALD. But in the great world people won’t hear of such things. There, nobody really believes such doctrines any longer. There, you feel it a positive bliss and ecstasy merely to draw the breath of life. Mother, have you noticed that everything I have painted has turned upon the joy of life?—always, always upon the joy of life?—light and sunshine and glorious air—and faces radiant with happiness. That is why I’m afraid of remaining at home with you. MRS. ALVING. Afraid? What are you afraid of here, with me? OSWALD. I’m afraid lest all my instincts should be warped into ugliness.