He went through the passage into a little parlour. The heavy-scented air of the place was at once soothing and exciting to his senses.
"Sit down, won't you? But what are you looking so serious about? Has your girl thrown you over—or what?"
"Now, how on earth did you guess that?" cried Olof in sudden relief, thankful that the girl was so bright and talkative. He felt all at once that he too must talk—of anything, nothing, or he could not stay in the place a minute.
"Guess? Why, that's easy enough. They always come here when there's anything wrong with—the others. And there's always something wrong with some of them. Was she pretty?" The girl looked at him with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
"Pretty?—yes, that she was, pretty as you, nearly."
"Puh!" laughed the girl. "And she kissed you, I suppose?"
"No. Wouldn't even kiss me."
"Aha. So you made love to another girl, and then she threw you over—that was it, I'm sure."
"Right again! Yes—made love to another girl—that was it. And quite enough too."
"Oh, it's always the way with—well, that sort of girls. They don't understand how to make love a bit. There's heaps of love to be had, if you only know where to look for it."