"That's true. But we make them both for ourselves mostly. If you only knew what fun I've got out of life at times; have to hammer out a bit of something lively now and then, you know! Look at us now, for instance, just sitting here talking. Isn't that heaps better than sitting solemnly like two mummies on their blessed pyramids?" And he swung round on his high stool till the screw creaked again.
"Yes, indeed, it's very nice, I'm sure." Betty began putting her books away, Holm walking up and down meanwhile with short, rapid steps. Upstairs, someone was singing to the piano.
"Nice sort of evening we're going to have, by the look of things. House full of blessed amateurs with fiddles and tambourines. Serve them right if they were packed off to a reformatory, the whole——"
"Oh, but surely, Mr. Holm, you needn't be so hard on them. Young people must have a little entertainment now and then—especially when they've a father who can afford it," she added a little wistfully.
"Afford it—h'm. As to that ... if they keep on the way they're going now, I'm not sure I shan't have to give them a bit of a lesson...." He crossed over to the desk, and, spreading out his elbows, looked quizzically at Betty.
"What do you think now—is Knut G. Holm too old to marry again?"
"Really, I'm sure I couldn't say," answered the girl, with a merry laugh. And, slipping past him, she took her jacket and hat.
"Good-night, Mr. Holm."
"Good-night, Miss Betty. I hope I haven't kept you too long with all my talk, but it's such a comfort to feel that there's one place in the house where there's somebody sensible to talk to."
He stood for some time looking after her.