“It was only that I wanted to know about Blanche,” said Swanhild, conscious that, in some way she could not explain, he was unjust to her. But, unluckily, the mention of Blanche’s name was just the one thing that Frithiof could not bear; he lost his self-control. “Don’t begin to argue,” he said fiercely. “You ought to have known better than to read that poisonous stuff! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” This was more than Swanhild could endure; with a sense of intolerable injury she left the parlor, locked herself into her bedroom, and cried as if her heart would break, taking good care, however, to stifle her sobs in the pillow, since she, too, had her full share of the national pride. “It is ungenerous of him to hate poor Blanche so,” she thought to herself. “Whatever she has done I shall always love her—always. And he had no right to speak so to me, it was unfair—unfair! I didn’t know it was wrong to read the paper. Father would never have scolded me for it.” And in this she was quite right; only a very inexperienced “guardian” could have made so great a mistake as to reproach her and hold her to blame for quite innocently touching pitch. Perhaps even Frithiof might have been wiser had not the sudden shock and the personal pain of the discovery thrown him off his balance. When Sigrid returned in a few minutes she found him pacing the room as restlessly as any wild beast at the Zoo. “Frithiof,” she said, “what is the matter with you? Have you and Herr Sivertsen had a quarrel?” “The matter is this” he said hoarsely, checking his restlessness with an effort and leaning against the mantel-piece as he talked to her. “I came back just now and found Swanhild reading the newspaper—reading the Romiaux Divorce Case, thoroughly fascinated by it too.” “I had no idea it had begun,” said Sigrid. “We so seldom see an English paper; how did this one happen to be lying about?” “Roy gave it to me to look at an account of Norway; I didn’t know this was in it too. However, I gave Swanhild a scolding that she’ll not soon forget.” Sigrid looked up anxiously, asking what he had said and listening with great dissatisfaction to his reply. “You did very wrong indeed,” she said warmly. “You forget that Swanhild is perfectly innocent and ignorant; you have wronged her very cruelly, and she will feel that, though she wont understand it.” Now Frithiof, although he was proud and hasty, was neither ungenerous nor conceited; as soon as he had cooled down and looked at the question from this point of view, he saw at once that he had been wrong. “I will go to her and beg her pardon,” he said at length. “No, no, not just yet,” said Sigrid, with the feeling that men were too clumsy for this sort of work. “Leave her to me.”