Laura’s voice trembled and the tears were already in her eyes. Her guardian grew alarmed:
“What’s the matter? What do you want to do, then, my dear child?”
Then Laura could restrain her desire no longer:
“I ... I want to go to a boarding school ... in Switzerland. You get such an appetite there. It would do my chest good. Elvira Lähnfeldt at Trefvinge is going to Neuchatel. Stellan told me so, for he was invited. Neuchatel is said to be so very suitable. And fancy to be able to talk French properly—and then the air,—”
Old Hermansson’s horizon did not stretch beyond the frontiers of his own country. He was dumbfounded by the audacity of the proposal:
“Impossible, my dear child, impossible!”
After the first attack Laura collected her forces for a more systematic siege:
“Oh, Uncle, you should live at Selambshof,” she wailed. “You would be ill in a week. Yes, it is so unpleasant at home since that dreadful business with Brundin.”
Laura glanced at her guardian; she seemed satisfied with the effect and continued:
“It is worst with Peter. He curses like a farm labourer and he swears at table. He is really no company for a young girl!”