He looked up a little—paper—business—his thoughts took a definite direction. Hope began to dawn, and Malla Trap had accomplished a piece of the finest missionary work a human soul ever can—she had made a sunny thought to grow in a tortured and despairing mind.
Her best friend was Miss Strom, a woman of considerable wit and education, and daughter of the late governor of the province.
When the pair of them were together, Beate Strom would lecture at length, pointing out to Malla Trap the necessity of paying some regard to public opinion; it really would not do to go on acting in that independent fashion.
"It's no good, my dear," Malla Trap would say. "If I can't do things my own way, which is at least honest and decent enough, why, I might as well give up altogether."
"Not at all," said Beate Strom earnestly; "one must consider what people say."
"Nonsense, Beate! You're far too well brought up, my dear, that's the trouble."
And when Malla Trap gave a supper-party, with lobster mayonnaise and black pudding, Beate Strom gave her up as hopeless. There was a limit, she declared, to the extent to which innovations should be permitted.
But Malla Trap simply pleaded that they were her favourite dishes—and why shouldn't she? Was she to sit and eat plain bread and cheese when she felt like lobster mayonnaise and could get it? No, thank you!
As already mentioned, Miss Trap was a regular visitor at Holm's, and had her own place at table.
The children were fond of her, and she of them. Whenever anything went wrong, or they were in trouble, both William and Marie would go to Aunt Trap for advice.