Of course, she should have all the help she needed, but--Yes, it was only
too true; she had not given her new home a thought; she had simply hung
about the office with him. She had begun to cry, and had told him how
silly and useless she really was; she was a goose, a stupid little goose.
But Ole had taken her in his arms and had sat down with her on the sofa
and told her that she was only a child, a charming, wonderful child, but
she was getting older and more sensible right along; time and life were
before them. How he loved her! His eyes, too, were wet; he looked like a
child himself. Above all, there was no hurry; she had free hands to decide
and arrange, just as she pleased. Yes; they were fully agreed....
"I must confess I feared you had lost interest in us poets," said Irgens.
"I was afraid we had forfeited your good-will in some way."
She woke up and looked at him.
"Why do you say that?"
"I had come to that conclusion. You remember that evening at Tivoli when
your old tutor was quite severe on us poor scribblers? You looked as if
you heartily approved of everything he said."
"No, you are mistaken."
Pause.
"I am very glad that I have met you, anyway," said Irgens as indifferently
as he could.
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