The Lieutenant was very fond of his wife and moreover respected her judgment as he did her brother’s. But that evening he would rather she had not sat up for him. She, too, was against him in this building project.
“What did Kalle say?” Fru Lagerlöf asked him, as they went to their room.
“He thinks like you and the rest, that I should give up the work.”
Fru Lagerlöf made no reply. She had dropped into her usual place, by the sewing table, and sat looking out into the light summer night, with no thought, apparently, of retiring.
The Lieutenant had already flung off his coat. “Aren’t you going to bed?” he asked. His rasping tones betrayed his irritation and despondency.
“I think,” said the wife in a low, even voice—still gazing into the night—“I think you should finish it.”
“What are you saying?” the Lieutenant queried impatiently. He had heard what she said, but thought he must have misunderstood.
“I think,” she repeated, “that you ought to go on with it.”
“Is it the barn you’re speaking of?” he asked, going up to her. Her words had awakened a little hope in him, yet he was not certain that he had understood her aright.
Fru Lagerlöf had been turning this matter over in her mind the whole evening; she had said to herself that it would not be well for her husband to go short in yet another undertaking. It might be more expedient perhaps to give over the building scheme; but that would go too hard with him. This was something which her father or her brother could not understand; but she—his wife—understood.