Jenny sat looking at the woman who was Helge’s mother—how different it all was from what she had imagined. She had formed a picture in her mind of Helge’s home and mother from his descriptions, and she had pitied the woman whom the husband did not love and who had loved the children so much that they had rebelled and longed to get away from this tyrannic mother-love that could not bear them ever to be anything but her children. In her heart she had taken the mother’s part. Men did not understand to what extent a woman could change who loved and got no love in return except the love of small children; they could not understand what a mother would feel at seeing her children grow up and glide away from her, or how she could rise in defiance and anger against the inexorable life that let little children grow up and cease to feel their mother everything to them, while they were everything to her as long as she lived. Jenny had wanted to love Helge’s mother—and she could not do it; on the contrary, she felt an almost physical antipathy towards Mrs. Gram as she talked on and on. The features were the same as Helge’s—the high, slightly narrow forehead, the beautifully carved nose, and the even, dark brows, the same small mouth with thin lips, and the pointed chin. But there was an expression about her mouth as if everything she said were spiteful, and a malicious and scornful look about the fine wrinkles of the face. The remarkably well-shaped eyes, bluish in the white, were hard and piercing. They were large, dark brown eyes—much darker than Helge’s. She had been uncommonly pretty; yet Jenny was convinced she was right in thinking that Gert Gram had not been anxious to marry her. She was no lady as far as language and manners went—but many pretty girls of the middle classes soon turned harsh and sour when they had been married some time and shut up in a home, with worries of housekeeping and servants to spoil their life. “Mr. Gram asked me to go and see you and give you the latest news about him,” said Jenny. She felt she could not speak about him as Helge. “I understand that he spent his time exclusively with you lately—he never mentioned anybody else in his letters. I thought he was in love with a Miss Jahrman at first.” “Miss Jahrman is my friend—there were several of us always together at first, but she has been very busy lately working at a large picture.” “Is she the daughter of Colonel Jahrman of Tegneby? Then I suppose she has money?” “No; she is studying on a small inheritance from her mother. She is not on very good terms with her father—that is to say, he did not like her wanting to become an artist, so she refused to accept any help from him.” “Very stupid of her. My daughter, Mrs. Arnesen, knows her slightly—she stayed with us at Christmas. She said there were other reasons why the Colonel did not want to have anything to do with her; she is said to be very good looking, but has a bad reputation.”