“No; I met you on the stairs the other day, and yesterday, as I was going to the office, I saw you again. I followed you. I was half a mind to stop you and introduce myself. Then I saw you go in here, and I knew there were studios in this house, so I thought I would pay you a visit.” “Do you know,” said Jenny, with a merry laugh, “Helge too followed me in the street—I was with a friend. He had lost his way in the old streets by the rag market, and he came and spoke to us. That is how we made his acquaintance. We thought it rather cool at the time, but it seems to run in the family.” Gram frowned, and sat quiet an instant. Jenny realized that she had said the wrong thing, and was thinking what to say next. “May I make you some tea?” she asked, and without waiting for an answer lit the spirit-lamp under the kettle. “Miss Winge, you must not be afraid that Helge is like me in other things. I don’t think he takes after his father in anything—fortunately.” He laughed. Jenny did not know what to say to this, and busied herself with the tea. “It’s rather bare in here, as you see, but I live at home with my mother.” “I see. This is a good studio, is it not?” “I think so.” After a moment he said: “I have been thinking of you very much lately, Miss Winge—I understood from my son’s letters that you and he....” “Yes, Helge and I are very fond of each other,” said Jenny, looking straight at him. He took her hand and held it an instant. “I know my son so little—his real self is almost unknown to me, but as you are fond of him you must know him far better. I have always believed that he was a good boy, and clever in a way, and the fact that you love him proves to me that I have reason to be pleased—and proud of him. Now that I know you, I can understand that he loves you, and I hope he will make you happy.” “Thank you,” said Jenny, giving him her hand again. “I am fond of the boy—he’s my only son—and I think he likes me too.” “I know he does. Helge is very fond of you and of his mother.” She blushed as if she had been tactless. “Yes, I believe so; but he must have seen long ago that his father and mother did not care for one another. Helge has not had a happy home, Jenny. I don’t mind telling you this, for if you have not already understood it, you will soon see it for yourself. You are a sensible girl. Helge’s experience of his own home will teach him, perhaps, to value your love and try to keep it.” Jenny poured out the tea: “Helge used to come and have tea with me in the afternoon in Rome—it was really during these visits we learnt to know each other, I think.” “And you became fond of each other?” “No, not at once. Perhaps we were, though—even then—but we believed that we were great friends only. He came to tea afterwards too, of course.” They both smiled. “Tell me something about Helge from the time he was a boy—when he was quite small, I mean.”