"High C Lady; nightingale; your little Donna's mother—Rantzau, isn't it?"
"Hermansen and Mrs. Rantzau?" Holm looked at him earnestly.
"Aha, had an eye on her yourself, what? Well, you've had some experience of widows, so you're not a new hand at the business."
"What's all this nonsense you've got hold of to-day, Vindt?"
"Why, I'm sorry to crush the budding flower of love within your heart, but so it is. You've always come off second-best with Hermansen—and now he's snapped up Mrs. Rantzau under your nose. A marriage has been arranged—etc. etc."
Holm's face was flushed—no doubt with his efforts to open the bottle.
"Come along!" said Vindt. "What about that little drink? I'm sure I want something to console me."
Holm could not get the cork out. He sat down, and was unusually silent.
Vindt began to feel conscience-stricken. Surely Holm had not been in earnest, then?
"Holm! You don't mean to say you're—you're...."