She told him
what had especially stirred her; it was that wonderful "Song to Life";
never had she read anything so beautiful. Then, as if she feared she had
spoken too warmly and laid herself open to misunderstanding, she added in
an ordinary tone of voice that Ole had been just as enchanted as she; he
had read most of it aloud to her.
Irgens made a wry face. Did she care to have things read to her? Really?
It was intentionally that Aagot had mixed Ole's name into the
conversation. This afternoon he had once more asked her about the wedding,
and she had left everything to him; there was no reason for delay. It had
been decided to have the wedding after Ole had returned from London this
coming fall. Ole was as good as the day was long; he never grew impatient
with her and was almost absurdly fond of her. He had said that perhaps she
had better spend a little time in the house occasionally. She had flushed;
she could not help it; it was disgraceful not to have stirred a finger to
make herself a little useful instead of hanging around the office early
and late. Suppose she began to think a little about their house, said Ole;
she might make up her mind about things they wanted, furniture and such.
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