Orneclou was in his most amiable mood and sat all dinner-time complimenting the Pastor on his cleverness in marrying again. Did he remember what a life the old rural dean of Sjöskoga had had when he had been left a widower for so many years? When the Ensign had last called on him the dining-room had not been scoured and they had had to dine in one of the bedrooms. There wasn’t a clean tablecloth in the house, but stains on every one, and the maids were too idle to cook anything but cabbage soup, which was made on Sunday and came back day after day--and even that they had to be thankful to get. But his dear old friend in Lövdala had contrived to get something very different. It was no easy matter to find such a good housekeeper as his wife. He had heard such accounts of her skill that he had wondered very much what delicacies he would taste on his next visit to the Parsonage. And not only that, but what an advantage for Maia Lisa to learn how a table ought to be laid and a dinner served from someone who knew exactly how these things were done in the best society. Fine gentleman Orneclou certainly had a special gift for saying nasty things, and no doubt they did their work, but Anna Maria Raklitz was not a woman to be turned from her purpose by a couple of sharp words, so she said in her harsh voice: “If Ensign Orneclou was not comfortable in the widower’s house, I suppose he could have left and gone his way.” Then Orneclou saw that there would be no dining in the best parlour nor sleeping in the proper bedroom unless he chose another plan of attack. He would, however, have submitted if there had not been one other reason as well for feeling injured. It was remarkable that a woman should want to drive him away. That had never happened to him before, and he couldn’t get over it. Certainly he was a good bit on the wrong side of forty, but all the same he was a handsome man, and no woman had ever yet been able to withstand his charms. This gave the Ensign pause. For an hour or two he sat playing chess with the Pastor, but when the latter went out in the dusk to talk over farm matters with Long-Bengt, the Ensign went into the sitting-room with the intention of chatting to the Pastor’s wife. She was sitting bolt upright by the window, making use of what little light was left to finish mending a pair of stockings. So Orneclou began somewhat cautiously to explain that he felt he was growing old and with increasing years came more wisdom than in youth. Young girls were, one and all, unstable and frivolous, but now that he had determined to give up a butterfly existence he wondered if Cousin--as an old friend of her husband’s he hoped he might call her Cousin--knew any somewhat older lady--not too old, of course, but well on in the twenties--who was both domesticated and discreet and might be willing to take a poor man like himself.