"But when the wits are away the brain is like a ship without ballast--there is no safe sailing possible.

He would not mean any harm, perhaps,--and yet in his wild moods he might do it, and be sorry for it directly afterwards.
'Tis little use to cry when the mischief is done,--and I confess I do not like his present humor." "By-the-by," observed Lorimer, "that reminds me! Sigurd has taken an uncommonly strong aversion to Phil.

It's curious but it's a fact.
Perhaps it is that which upsets his nerves ?" "I have noticed it myself," said Errington, "and I'm sorry for it, for I've done him no harm that I can remember.

He certainly asked me to go away from the Altenfjord, and I refused,--I'd no idea he had any serious meaning in his request.

But it's evident he can't endure my company." "Ah, then!" said Thelma simply and sorrowfully, "he must be very ill,--because it is natural for every one to like you." She spoke in perfect good faith and innocence of heart; but Errington's eyes flashed and he smiled--one of those rare, tender smiles of his which brightened his whole visage.
"You are very kind to say so, Miss Gueldmar!" "It is not kindness; it is the truth!" she replied frankly.
At that moment a very rosy face and two sparkling eyes peered in at the door.
"Yes, Britta!" Thelma smiled; "we are quite ready!" Whereupon the face disappeared, and Olaf Gueldmar led the way into the kitchen, which was at the same time the dining-room, and where a substantial supper was spread on the polished pine table.
The farmer's great arm-chair was brought in for Duprez, who, though he declared he was being spoilt by too much attention, seemed to enjoy it immensely,--and they were all, including Britta, soon clustered round the hospitable board whereon antique silver and quaint glasses of foreign make sparkled bravely, their effect enhanced by the snowy whiteness of the homespun table-linen.
A few minutes set them all talking gaily.