“Come along,” said Peer. “Here’s the telephone.”
When the two had left the room, Klaus turned to Merle with a smile. “Well, well—so I’m really in the presence of Peer’s wife—his wife in flesh and blood. And this is what she looks like! That fellow always had all the luck.” And he took her hand again and kissed it. Merle drew it away and blushed.
“You are not married, then, Mr. Brock?”
“I? Well, yes and no. I did marry a Greek girl once, but she ran away. Just my luck.” And he blinked his eyes and sighed with an expression so comically sad that Merle burst out laughing.
“And your friend, Ferdinand Holm?” she asked.
“He, dear lady—he—why, saving your presence, I have an idea there’s a select little harem attached to that palace of his.”
Merle turned towards the window and shook her head with a smile.
An hour later the visitors came down from their rooms after a wash and a change of clothes, and after a light luncheon Peer carried them off to show them round the place. He had added a number of new buildings, and had broken new land. The farm had forty cows when he came, now he had over sixty. “Of course, all this is a mere nothing for fellows like you, who bring your harvest home in railway trains,” he said. “But, you see, I have my home here.” And he waved his hand towards the house and the farmstead round.
Later they drove over in the light trap to look at the workshop, and here he made no excuses for its being small. He showed off the little foundry as if it had been a world-famous seat of industry, and maintained his serious air while his companions glanced sideways at him, trying hard not to smile.
The workmen touched their caps respectfully, and sent curious glances at the strangers.