Herr Falck threw himself back in his arm-chair, and mused for a few minutes.
“One need not necessarily lose him,” he replied, “and you know, Sigrid, I am a believer in early marriages—at least for my son; I will not say too much about you, little woman, for as a matter of fact I don’t know how I should ever spare you.”
“Don’t be afraid, little father; you may be very sure I shant marry till I see a reasonable chance of being happier than I am at home with you. And when will that be, do you think?”
He stroked her golden hair tenderly.
“Not just yet, Sigrid, let us hope. Not just yet. As to our Frithiof, shall I tell you of the palace in cloud-land I am building for him?”
“Not that he should marry the pretty Miss Morgan, as Swanhild calls her?” said Sigrid, with a strange sinking at the heart.
“Why not? I hear that she is a charming girl, both clever and beautiful, and indeed it seems to me that he is quite disposed to fall in love with her at first sight. Of course were he not properly in love I should never wish him to marry, but I own that a union between the two houses would be a great pleasure to me—a great relief.”
He sighed, and for the first time the anxious look in his eyes attracted Sigrid’s notice. “Father, dear,” she exclaimed, “wont you tell me what is troubling you? There is something, I think. Tell me, little father.”
He looked startled, and a slight flush spread over his face; but when he spoke his voice was reassuring.
“A business man often has anxieties which can not be spoken of, dear child. God knows they weigh lightly enough on some men; I think I am growing old, Sigrid, and perhaps I have never learned to take things so easily as most merchants do.”