Milde and Norem were
with him.
"So here you are!" called Ole.
Irgens gave him his left hand and did not get up. He glanced through
half-closed lids at Aagot.
"This, Aagot, is the poet Irgens." Ole presented him, somewhat proud of
his intimate acquaintance with the great man. "My fiancee, Miss Lynum."
Irgens got up and bowed deeply. Once more he looked at Aagot, looked
persistently, even, and she looked back at him; she was evidently
surprised to find the poet different from what she had thought. It was
over two years since she had read his book, the lyric drama which had
brought him so much fame. She had thought the master to be an elderly man.
"May I congratulate?" said Irgens finally, and gave Ole his hand.
They all sat down; each got a seidel and began a conversation. The spirits
around the little table rose; even Irgens grew communicative and joined
in. He addressed Aagot across the table, asked if she had been in the city
before, in the theatre, in Tivoli, read this book or that, visited the
Exhibition of paintings? "But, Miss Lynum, you must really see the
Exhibition! I should be delighted to show it to you if you cannot find a
better guide--" They conversed for about ten minutes across the table, and
Aagot replied rapidly to every question, sometimes laughing, now and then
forgetting herself and asking questions with her head tilted sideways; her
eyes were wide open and sparkling; she was not the least bit embarrassed.
Pages:
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84