Mrs. Alving.
What makes you think so?
Oswald.
Everything will burn. All that recalls father’s memory is doomed. Here am I, too, burning down. [Regina starts and looks at him.
Mrs. Alving.
Oswald! You oughtn’t to have remained so long down there, my poor boy.
Oswald.
[Sits down by the table.] I almost think you are right.
Mrs. Alving.
Let me dry your face, Oswald; you are quite wet.