Johannes listened to this explanation and found a way out of the difficulty; his heart was beating audibly. He noticed that Victoria's mother was looking at her with tears in her eyes and with infinite forbearance. Yes, he had exaggerated, he said; Miss Victoria was right. She had been so kind as to remind him that he was not only their neighbour's son, but also the playmate of the Castle children, and it was to this latter circumstance he owed his presence here. He thanked her, that was how it was. He belonged to the place, the Castle woods were once his whole world, beyond them loomed the unknown country, fairyland. But in those days he would often have a message from Ditlef and Victoria that they wanted him to join them in an excursion or a game--those were the great events of his childhood. Later, when he had thought over it, he was bound to acknowledge that those hours had had a significance in his life which no one knew of, and if it was true--as they had just heard--that what he wrote had sometimes a _flame_ in it, that was because the memories of that time kindled him; it was the reflection of that happiness his two playmates had bestowed on him in childhood. Therefore they also had a great share in what he produced. To the general good wishes on the occasion of the engagement he would therefore add his personal thanks to both the Castle children for the good years of childhood, when neither time nor things had come between them, the glad, short summer day.... A speech, a regular attempt at a speech. It was not amusing, but it didn't go so badly, the company drank, went on eating and took up their conversation again. Ditlef remarked dryly to his mother: "I never knew it was really me that had written his books, what?" But his mother did not laugh. She drank with her children and said: "Thank him, thank him. It was very easy to understand, when he was so lonely as a child.... What are you doing, Victoria?" "I'm going to send the maid to him with this sprig of lilac for my thanks. Mayn't I?" "No," answered the Lieutenant. * * * * * After dinner the company scattered themselves about the rooms, the big balcony and even the garden. Johannes went down to the ground floor and entered the garden room. It was not empty, there were a couple of men smoking, the Laird and another, and they were talking in undertones about the Master's finances. His land was neglected, choked with weeds, the fences were down, the timber shockingly thinned; it was said he even had difficulty in paying the astonishingly high insurances on the buildings and their contents. "How much is the place insured for?" The Laird mentioned the sum, a whacking sum.