"Think of that!"
VIII
Ole Henriksen stood in his office a few days later. It was in the
afternoon, about three; the weather was clear and calm; the docks were
busy as ever.
Ole walked over to the window and looked out. An enormous coal-steamer was
gliding in from the fiord; masts and rigging pointed skyward everywhere;
cargoes were being unloaded along the wharves. Suddenly he started; the
yacht was gone! He opened his eyes wide. Among all the hundreds of
mastheads none were golden.
He wanted to go out and look into this, but paused at the door. He went
back to his desk again, leaned his head on his hands, and reflected. In
reality the yacht did not belong to him any more; it was hers, Miss
Lynum's; he had given it to her, and the papers were in her keeping. She
had not returned these papers together with the ring; she might have
forgotten it--how could he know? Anyway, the yacht was hers; he had
nothing to do with it. But if it had been stolen? Well, even that was no
affair of his.
Ole took up his pen again, but only for a few moments. Dear me, she used
to sit there on the sofa and sew so busily on the little cushions! They
had been so cute and tiny that it was almost absurd.
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