Oswald. I don't, mother. (Goes to the table.) It seems to me I have told you a good lot.
(REGINA brings the lamp and puts it upon the table.)
Mrs. Alving. Regina, you might bring us a small bottle of champagne.
Regina. Yes, ma'am. (Goes out.)
Oswald (taking hold of his mother's face). That's right; I knew my mother wouldn't let her son go thirsty.
Mrs. Alving. My poor dear boy, how could I refuse you anything now?
Oswald (eagerly). Is that true, mother? Do you mean it?
Mrs. Alving. Mean what?
Oswald. That you couldn't deny me anything?
Mrs. Alving. My dear Oswald—