But he will not; he despises his own powers, and one day he will start a
revolution against himself. Mark my words. Your health, dear lady!"
Merle laughed, and lifted her glass, but hesitatingly, and with a
side-glance towards Peer.
"Yes, your husband is no better now than an egoist, a collector of happy
days."
"Well, and is that so very wicked?"
"He sits ravelling out his life into a multitude of golden threads,"
went on Ferdinand with a bow, his steely eyes trying to look gentle.
"But what is wrong in that?" said the young wife stoutly.
"It is wrong. It is wasting his immortal soul. A man has no right to
ravel out his life, even though the threads are of gold. A man's days of
personal happiness are forgotten--his work endures. And your husband
in particular--why the deuce should HE be so happy? The world-evolution
uses us inexorably, either for light or for fuel. And Peer--your
husband, dear lady--is too good for fuel."
Merle glanced again at her husband. Peer laughed, but then suddenly
compressed his lips and looked down at his plate.
Then the nurse came in with little Louise, to say good-night, and
the child was handed round from one to the other. But when the little
fair-haired girl came to Ferdinand Holm, he seemed loth to touch her,
and Merle read his glance at Peer as meaning: "Here is another of the
bonds you've tied yourself up with."
"Excuse me," he said suddenly, looking at his watch, "I'm afraid I must
ask for the use of the telephone again.
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