MRS. BORKMAN. [Looking harshly at him.] Why have you never come and asked me for what you call understanding? BORKMAN. What use would it have been to come to you? MRS. BORKMAN. [With a gesture of repulsion.] You have never loved anything outside yourself; that is the secret of the whole matter. BORKMAN. [Proudly.] I have loved power. MRS. BORKMAN. Yes, power! BORKMAN. The power to create human happiness in wide, wide circles around me! MRS. BORKMAN. You had once the power to make me happy. Have you used it to that end? BORKMAN. [Without looking at her.] Some one must generally go down in a shipwreck. MRS. BORKMAN. And your own son! Have you used your power--have you lived and laboured--to make him happy? BORKMAN. I do not know him. MRS. BORKMAN. No, that is true. You do not even know him. BORKMAN. [Harshly.] You, his mother, have taken care of that! MRS. BORKMAN. [Looking at him with a lofty air.] Oh, you do not know what I have taken care of! BORKMAN. You? MRS. BORKMAN. Yes, I. I alone.