That is enough. Aagot throws down her pen and runs over to him. And they are happy and silly until the next slate arrives.
"Little Mistress!" he says smilingly, and looks down into her eyes,
"Little Mistress!"
Time passes. At last the work is done, the accounts finished, and Ole says, while he slams the ledger shut:
"Well, I have got to go and send some wires. Are you coming along?"
"Yes, dear, if you'll let me!" she answers. And she trips along, greatly pleased.
On the way Ole remembers that he has not as yet presented his sweetheart to Irgens. "You ought to meet this fellow Irgens," he says; "he is a great man, one of the deep talents; everybody says so." Suppose they went as far as the Grand; he might be there.
They entered the Grand, passed by the tables where people sat drinking and smoking, and found Irgens far back in the room. Milde and Norem were with him.
"So here you are!" called Ole.
Irgens gave him his left hand and did not get up. He glanced through half-closed lids at Aagot.
"This, Aagot, is the poet Irgens." Ole presented him, somewhat proud of his intimate acquaintance with the great man. "My fiancée, Miss Lynum."