“Lennart was very weak after his illness, and the doctor said he must go into the country—and I myself was tired and overworked, so I said I ought to go away for a change and a rest as I was going to have a baby. I got his permission to write to papa for money. We got it and went to Wärmland, having a lovely time. Lennart was getting well and strong, and I took up my painting again. When he understood I was not expecting a child really, he asked if I had not made a mistake, and I told him I had tricked him, not wanting to lie to him. But he is angry with me for it, and I can see that he does not quite believe me. If he understood my nature, don’t you think he would believe in me?” “Yes, Cesca dear.” “You see, I had told him the same thing once before—about the baby, I mean—in the autumn, when he was so sad and we were not happy. I wanted him to be pleased and to be kind to me, and he was. It was a lovely time. I had really lied, but I began to believe it myself at last, for I thought God would make it true, so that I need not disappoint him. But God did not do it. “I am so unhappy because I can’t have one. Do you think it is true—some people say it is so,” she whispered emotionally—“that a woman cannot have a child if she cannot feel—passionate?” “No,” said Jenny sharply. “I am sure it is only nonsense.” “I am sure everything would come all right then, for Lennart wishes it so very much. And I—oh, I think I should be so good—an angel for joy at having a dear little child of my own. Can you imagine anything more wonderful?” “No,” whispered Jenny, confused, “when you love each other. It would help you to get over many difficulties.” “Yes, it would. If it were not so awkward I would go and see a doctor. Don’t you think I ought to? I think I will some day, but I am so stupid about it—I feel so shy. I suppose it really is my duty as I am married. I might go to a lady doctor—one who is married and has children of her own. “Think of it! A tiny little creature all your own; Lennart would be so happy!” Jenny set her teeth in the dark. “Don’t you think I ought to go home tomorrow?” “Yes.” “I will tell Lennart everything. I don’t know if he will understand me—I don’t myself, but I am going to tell him the truth always. Should I not, Jenny?” “When you think it is right you should do so. One must always do what one thinks right, and never do anything one is not absolutely sure about.” “Good-night, Jenny dear.” She embraced her friend with sudden earnestness. “Thank you! It is so lovely to have you to talk to; you are so good, and you know how to take me. You and Gunnar always get me on to the right way. I don’t know what I should do if it weren’t for you.” Then, standing by the bed, she said: “Won’t you come through Stockholm when you go abroad this autumn? Please, do! You could stay with us. I am getting a thousand _kroner_ from father because he is going to give Borghild the same for her trip to Paris.”