Towards the end of May Jenny had not heard from Helge for several days, and was beginning to fear that something had happened. If no letter came the next day she would send a wire. In the afternoon, when she was in her studio, there was a knock at the door. When she opened she was seized and hugged and kissed by a man who stood on the landing. “Helge!” She was overjoyed. “Helge! how you frightened me, you dear boy. Let me look at you. Is it really and truly you?” and she pulled the travelling-cap off his head. “I hope it could not be anybody else,” he said laughingly. “But what does all this mean?” “I will tell you,” he said, pressing his face against her neck. “I wanted to give you a surprise, and so I did, it seems.” After the first tender greetings were over they sat down hand in hand on the sofa. “Let me look at you, Jenny—oh, how lovely you are! At home they believe I am in Berlin. I am going to an hotel for the night. I mean to stay a few days in town before telling them. Won’t it be fun! It is a pity you live at home now. We could have been together all day.” “When you knocked I thought it was your father coming.” “Father?” “Yes.” She felt a little embarrassed; it seemed suddenly so difficult to explain the whole thing to him. “You see, your father came one day to call, and he has been to tea sometimes in the afternoon. We sit and talk about you.” “But, Jenny, you never wrote a word about it; you have not even mentioned that you had met father.” “No; I preferred to tell you. You see, your mother does not know about it; your father thought it better not to mention it.” “Not to me?” “Oh no, we never meant that. He believes most likely that I have told you. It was only your mother who was not to know. I thought it was—well, I did not like to write you that I had a secret from your mother. You understand?” Helge was silent. “I did not like it myself,” she continued. “But what could I do? He called on me, you see, and I like him very much. I am getting quite fond of your father.” “Father can be very attractive, I know—and then you are an artist, too.” “He likes me for your sake, dear. I know it is so.” Helge did not answer. “And you have only seen mother once?” “Yes—but are you not hungry? Let me give you something to eat.” “No, thanks. We’ll go out and have supper somewhere together.” There was a knock at the door again. “It is your father,” whispered Jenny. “Hush—sit still—don’t open!” They heard retreating steps on the landing. Helge frowned. “What is it, dear?” “Oh, I don’t know—I hope we won’t see him. We don’t wish to be disturbed, do we? Not to see anybody.” “No,” she kissed his mouth, and, bending his head, she kissed him again on the neck behind the ear. * * * * * After dinner, when they were having coffee and liqueurs, Jenny said suddenly: “I cannot get over this about Francesca.” “Did you not know before? I thought she had written to you.” Jenny shook her head.