"Doubtful about what?" I asked.

He averted his eyes and did not answer this. It was impossible to make
them out. For instance, his niece was weeping for Falk. Now he (Hermann)
would like to wring his neck--but then . . . He supposed he had too
tender a heart. "Frankly," he asked at last, "what do you think of what
we heard last night, captain?"

"In all these tales," I observed, "there is always a good deal of
exaggeration."

And not letting him recover from his surprise I assured him that I knew
all the details. He begged me not to repeat them. His heart was too
tender. They made him feel unwell. Then, looking at his feet and
speaking very slowly, he supposed that he need not see much of them
after they were married. For, indeed, he could not bear the sight of
Falk. On the other hand it was ridiculous to take home a girl with her
head turned. A girl that weeps all the time and is of no help to her
aunt.

"Now you will be able to do with one cabin only on your passage home," I
said.

"Yes, I had thought of that," he said brightly, almost. "Yes! Himself,
his wife, four children--one cabin might do. Whereas if his niece went
. . ."

"And what does Mrs. Hermann say to it?" I inquired.