"You seem so indifferent, Irgens!
Yes, I admit I should like to go to the opera, but--Where are you going
this evening? I am just like a compass-needle now: I oscillate, I may even
swing all the way round, but I hark constantly back to one point--I point
continually in one direction. It is you I am thinking of always."
Her little bewildered heart trembled. He looked at her. He knew it only
too well--there was nothing he could reproach her with; she had been more
than good to him. However, all he could promise was that he would come if
at all possible.
* * * * *
Mrs. Hanka had left. Irgens was ready to go out; he put his proof-sheets
in his pocket and took his hat. Had he forgotten anything? He had the
proofs; that was the most important thing at present--the beginning of a
book which was to startle the community with the suddenness of an
explosion. He was going to see if his quiet industry would be denied
appreciation. He, too, was going to send in an application for the
government subsidy; he would delay until the very last day in order to
avoid having his name paraded in the daily press alongside all those
nonentities who already were licking their chops in anticipation of this
modest emolument.
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