I do not loaf; I remain here by my doctor’s orders.
Rörlund.
Ahem—ladies, I hardly think that——
Lona.
[Catches sight of Olaf.] Is this your youngster, Betty? Give us your fist, my boy! Or are you afraid of your ugly old aunt?
Rörlund.
[Putting his book under his arm.] I do not think, ladies, that we are quite in the mood for doing more work to-day. But we shall meet again to-morrow?
Lona.
[As the visitors rise to go.] Yes, by all means—I shall be here.
Rörlund.