... But he sat there very quietly and discussed the great news in
an every-day voice.
Gradually, very gradually, she came to earth; her heart began to flutter
wildly.
"It seems as if the news does not make you so very happy, Irgens," she
said.
"Happy? Of course I am. Why shouldn't I be happy? You have sighed for this
for a long time; why shouldn't I rejoice with you now? I do, most
assuredly."
Words only, without fire, without warmth even! What could have happened?
Did he not love her any more? She sat there, her heart heavy within her;
she wanted to gain time, to hush the wakening terror in her breast. She
said:
"But, dear, where have you been all this time? I have called on you three
times without finding you in."
He answered, choosing his words carefully, that she must have missed him
because of an unfortunate series of accidents. He went out occasionally,
of course; but he spent most of his time at home. Where in the world could
he go? He went nowhere.
Pause. Finally she yielded abjectly to her fears and stammered:
"Well, Irgens, I am yours now, entirely yours! I am going to leave the
house--You will thank me, won't you? It will take three years, of course,
but then--"
She stopped suddenly; she felt that he was squirming, that he was bracing
himself against the inevitable; her terror increased as he remained
silent.
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