MRS. ALVING. Oh, how can you say so? Oswald takes after me.
MANDERS. Yes, but there is an expression about the corners of the mouth—something about the lips—that reminds one exactly of Alving: at any rate, now that he is smoking.
MRS. ALVING. Not in the least. Oswald has rather a clerical curve about his mouth, I think.
MANDERS. Yes, yes; some of my colleagues have much the same expression.
MRS. ALVING. But put your pipe away, my dear boy; I won't have smoking in here.
OSWALD. [Does so.] By all means. I only wanted to try it; for I once smoked it when I was a child.
MRS. ALVING. You?
OSWALD. Yes. I was quite small at the time. I recollect I came up to father's room one evening when he was in great spirits.
MRS. ALVING. Oh, you can't recollect anything of those times.
OSWALD. Yes, I recollect it distinctly. He took me on his knee, and gave me the pipe. "Smoke, boy," he said; "smoke away, boy!" And I smoked as hard as I could, until I felt I was growing quite pale, and the perspiration stood in great drops on my forehead. Then he burst out laughing heartily—