She must pardon
him; he was not like everybody else, he was a poet; when it came over him
he must yield. But he would give her no further cause for complaint if she
would only stay.... Wouldn't she mind going away the least little bit,
though? No, of course, he had no false illusions.
Pause. He was waiting for her to answer, to contradict him; perhaps she
would go to Torahus a little regretfully after all? But she remained
silent. Did she, then, hold him in so slight regard? Impossible! Still,
the thought began to worry him; he felt aggrieved, hurt, almost slighted.
He repeated his question: Did all his love for her not call forth the
tiniest responsive spark in her heart?
She answered gently and sorrowfully:
"Please do not ask. What do you think Ole would say if he heard you?"
Ole? He had not given him a thought. Did he really play the role of
competitor to Ole Henriksen? It was too ridiculous. He could not believe
that she meant what she had said. Ole might be all right as far as that
went; he bought and sold, went his peddler rounds through life, paid his
bills and added dollars to his hoard. That was all. Did money really
matter so much to her? God knows, perhaps even this girlish little head
had its concealed nook where thoughts were figuring in crowns and pennies!
Irgens was silent for an instant; he felt the pangs of jealousy.
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