Yes, now I can, Oswald. A little while ago you spoke of the joy of life; and at that word a new light burst for me over my life and everything connected with it. OSWALD. [_Shakes his head._] I don’t understand you. MRS. ALVING. You ought to have known your father when he was a young lieutenant. He was brimming over with the joy of life! OSWALD. Yes, I know he was. MRS. ALVING. It was like a breezy day only to look at him. And what exuberant strength and vitality there was in him! OSWALD. Well——? MRS. ALVING. Well then, child of joy as he was—for he _was_ like a child in those days—he had to live at home here in a half-grown town, which had no joys to offer him—only dissipations. He had no object in life—only an official position. He had no work into which he could throw himself heart and soul; he had only business. He had not a single comrade that could realise what the joy of life meant—only loungers and boon-companions—— OSWALD. Mother——! MRS. ALVING. So the inevitable happened. OSWALD. The inevitable? MRS. ALVING. You told me yourself, this evening, what would become of _you_ if you stayed at home. OSWALD. Do you mean to say that father——? MRS. ALVING. Your poor father found no outlet for the over-powering joy of life that was in him. And I brought no brightness into his home. OSWALD. Not even you? MRS. ALVING. They had taught me a great deal about duties and so forth, which I went on obstinately believing in. Everything was marked out into duties—into _my_ duties, and _his_ duties, and—I am afraid I made his home intolerable for your poor father, Oswald. OSWALD. Why have you never spoken of this in writing to me? MRS. ALVING. I have never before seen it in such a light that I could speak of it to you, his son. OSWALD. In what light did you see it, then? MRS. ALVING. [_Slowly._] I saw only this one thing: that your father was a broken-down man before you were born. OSWALD. [_Softly._] Ah——! [_He rises and walks away to the window._ MRS. ALVING. And then, day after day, I dwelt on the one thought that by rights Regina should be at home in this house—just like my own boy. OSWALD. [_Turning round quickly._] Regina——! REGINA. [_Springs up and asks, with bated breath._] I——?