After that he was here daily. He had so much to tell us about life in Stockholm and at the court, and always talked to me about you at home, about father, who although he was older—
"Much, much older, yes," put in the captain eagerly, "about four or five years, at least."
—always was his never-to-be-forgotten friend.
You can believe those were pleasant evenings. Aunt understands such things. There is a great void since he is gone. Aunt thinks so, too. We have sat talking about him, and hardly anything else than him, these two evenings since he went away.
Yesterday evening Grip came again. We have not seen him at all since the first time Captain Rönnow was here. And can any one imagine such a man? He seems to see nothing in him. He sat and contradicted, and was so cross and disagreeable the whole evening that aunt was quite tired of him. He argued about living externally, hollow drum, and some such things, as if it were not just the genuine manliness and naturalness that one must value so much in Captain Rönnow.
Oh, I lay half the night angry. He sat playing with his teacup and talked about people who could go through the world with a silk ribbon of phrases and compliments: that one could flatter to death a sound understanding, so that at last there was left only a plucked—I plainly heard him mumble—wild goose. Dreadful insolence! I am sure he meant me.
When he had gone aunt also said that hereafter she should refuse to receive him, when there was no other company present; she was tired of his performances en tête-à-tête; that sort of men must have a certain restraint put upon them. He will never have any kind of a career, she thought, he carries his own notions too high.
However, it will be very tiresome if he stays away; for with all his peculiarities he is very often a good war comrade for me against aunt.