"What's the matter?" asked the Baroness.
"There are ghosts in this house," I replied, trying to account for my silence. "Ages ago I lived here—yes, yes, ages ago, for I am very old."
"Can't we drive away those ghosts?" she asked, looking at me with a bewitching expression, full of motherly tenderness.
"I'm afraid we can't; that's the privilege of some one else," laughed the Baron; "she alone can banish the gloomy thoughts. Come now, you are engaged to Miss Selma?"
"No, you are mistaken, Baron; it was love's labour lost."
"What! is she bound to some one else?" asked the Baron, scrutinising my face.
"I think so."
"Oh, I'm sorry! That girl's a treasure. And I'm certain that she is fond of you."
And forthwith the three of us began to rail against the unfortunate singer, accusing him of attempting to compel a woman to marry him against her will. The Baroness tried to comfort me by insisting that things were bound to come right in the end, and promised to intercede for me on her next trip to Finland, which was to take place very shortly.
"No one shall succeed," she assured me, with an angry flash in her eyes, "in forcing that dear girl into a marriage of which her heart doesn't approve."