“If only you don’t find yourself seeing something of another world—one that your friend the priest seems to know such a lot about.”
In vain the doctor pointed out the difficulties and dangers of the project. Ørlygur was accustomed to mountain-climbing, and was obstinate. He must and would make the ascent.
“Must,” repeated the doctor. “What nonsense!”
“It is simply this—if I don’t do it, I shall have made a fool of myself in the eyes of that priest. I don’t know how you would like that as an alternative.”
“Oh, if that’s the case, I’ve nothing more to say. I’d rather drink off a bottle of sulphuric acid at once than let that fool crow over me.”
“Well, then, that’s enough,” said Ørlygur. “Let’s talk of something else. I came over this evening because I wanted livening up a little.”
“Very nice of you, I’m sure, to credit me with any ability that way. Suppose we try something to eat for a start.”
They went into the dining-room and sat down. A moment later the door from the kitchen was opened, and Snebiorg entered with a soup tureen on a tray. At sight of Ørlygur she stopped, and hesitated. Then she looked down and blushed, but came forward and set down the soup on the table. Ørlygur had risen, but said nothing. All the merriment had vanished from his face, leaving him serious and astonished. The doctor was looking at the girl, and did not perceive the change which had come over his guest.
“My new housekeeper,” he said, still without looking at Ørlygur. “A beauty, isn’t she? And if my nose doesn’t deceive me, she knows how to cook.” And he stroked her arm.
“How dare you touch me!” cried the girl, and, flushing more hotly than before, she left the room.