“It'll be so dismal for us all here if you go. Do let us try if we can't hit on something between us to pass the time for you! I can read a little, reading aloud, and there's Lars can sing. Perhaps I might tell stories—tell of something or other. Here's Grindhusen coming; won't you let me tell him you're not going after all?”
She softened at this, and sat thinking for a little. Then she said:
“You must be making a mistake altogether, I think. I am going to the station to meet the Captain. He didn't come the first day, or yesterday either, but he's sure to come some time. I'm driving over to meet him.”
“Oh!”
“There you are. Now go. Is Grindhusen there?”
It was like a slap in the face for me. She was right; it sounded so natural—oh, I had made a fool of myself again!
“Yes, here he is,” I answered. There was no more to be said.
And I put on my cap again, and helped Grindhusen myself with the harness. So confused and shamed was I that I did not even ask pardon, but only fretted this way and that way seeing to buckles and straps.
“You are driving then, Grindhusen?” called Fruen from the carriage.
“Me? Yes, surely,” he answered.