The pilot drew the newly lit cigar from his mouth, and passed his rough hand across his forehead in a sort of grave perplexity.
"It is a matter in which I am foolish," he said at last, "for my ways have always gone far from the ways of women. Girls there are plenty, I suppose, but--" he mused with pondering patience for awhile. Then a broad smile broke like sunshine over his embrowned countenance, as he continued, "Now, gentlemen, I do remember well; it is said that at Bosekop yonder, are to be found some of the homeliest wenches in all Norway."
Errington's face fell at this reply. Lorimer turned away to hide the mischievous smile that came on his lips at his friend's discomfiture.
"I know it was that Chartreuse," he thought to himself. "That and the midnight sun-effects. Nothing else!"
"What!" went on Philip. "No good-looking girls at all about here, eh?"
Svensen shook his head, still smilingly.
"Not at Bosekop, sir, that I ever heard of."
"I say!" broke in Lorimer, "are there any old tombs or sea-caves, or places of that sort close by, worth exploring?"
Valdemar Svensen answered this question readily, almost eagerly.
"No, sir! There are no antiquities of any sort; and as for eaves, there are plenty, but only the natural formations of the sea, and none of these are curious or beautiful on this side of the Fjord."
Lorimer poked his friend secretly in the ribs.
"You've been dreaming, old fellow!" he whispered slyly. "I knew it was a crammer!"
Errington shook him off good-humoredly.
"Can you tell me," he said, addressing Valdemar again in distinct accents, "whether there is any place, person, or thing near here called Thelma?"
The pilot started; a look of astonishment and fear came into his eyes; his hand went instinctively to his red cap, as though in deference to the name.
"The Fröken Thelma!" he exclaimed, in low tones. "Is it possible that you have seen her?"
"Ah, George, what do you say now?" cried Errington delightedly. "Yes, yes, Valdemar; the Fröken Thelma, as you call her. Who is she? . . . What is she?--and how can there be no pretty girls in Bosekop if such a beautiful creature as she lives there?"
Valdemar looked troubled and vexed.
"Truly, I thought not of the maiden," he said gravely. "'Tis not for me to speak of the daughter of Olaf," here his voice sank a little, and his face grew more and more sombre. "Pardon me, sir, but how did you meet her?"