Book 1 The Land of the Midnight Sun Chapter 10

"Why should a lady come?" she asked sweetly. "It is not necessary? . . ."

"Of course it isn't!" said Lorimer promptly and delightedly. "I am sure we shall be able to amuse you, Miss Güldmar."

"Oh,--for that!" she replied, with a little shrug that had something French about it, "I amuse myself always! I am amused now,--you must not trouble yourselves!"

As she was introduced to Duprèz and Macfarlane, she gave them each a quaint, sweeping curtsy, which had the effect of making them feel the most ungainly lumbersome fellows on the face of the earth. Macfarlane grew secretly enraged at the length of his legs,--while Pierre Duprèz, though his bow was entirely Parisian, decided in his own mind that it was jerky, and not good style. She was perfectly unembarrassed with all the young men; she laughed at their jokes, and turned her glorious eyes full on them with the unabashed sweetness of innocence; she listened to the accounts they gave her of their fishing and climbing excursions with the most eager interest,--and in her turn, she told them of fresh nooks and streams and waterfalls, of which they had never even heard the names. Not only were they enchanted with her, but they were thoroughly delighted with her father, Olaf Güldmar. The sturdy old pagan was in the best of humors,--and seemed determined to be pleased with everything,--he told good stories,--and laughed that rollicking, jovial laugh of his with such unforced heartiness that it was impossible to be dull in his company,--and not one of Errington's companions gave a thought to the reports concerning him and his daughter, which had been so gratuitously related by Mr. Dyceworthy.