"Him! I'd rather take the French simpleton, or Blind Conrad: I've no mind to make up the balance of his half-dozen. I don't want any sweetheart: I am going to remain single."
"That's what all the girls say."
"You shall see whether I am in earnest about it or not."
"But if you can get a good husband you oughtn't to be too dainty."
"What could I get? Some old widower who has furnished the gravedigger with two or three wives already. No! whenever I can't stay in your house any more, my mind's made up: I promised Mag when she went away to go to America. But I'm so glad to see you care about what's to become of me: sure, if you are going to be a clergyman, that's no reason why you should never look after your old friends."
"I should like nothing better than to do something for your comfort and happiness in the world."
Emmerence looked at him with beaming eyes. "That's what I always said," cried she: "I knew you were good, and I never would believe you were proud. Ask your mother: we talk of you often and often. Don't your ears ever tingle?"
Thus they chatted for some time. Emmerence told him that she read his letters to his mother, and that she almost knew them by heart. Ivo thought it his duty to say that he too had not forgotten her, and that he hoped she would always be good and pious. He said this with a great effort of self-command, for the girl's warm-hearted candor had made a great impression upon him.
The church-bell rang, and some old women who passed with their prayer-books under their arms made Ivo aware that he was too late for matins.
"Where are you going to work to-day?" he asked, before leaving.