Adultery -- Fiction; Artists -- Fiction; Illegitimate children -- Fiction; Painters -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
Miss Jahrman laughed. Helge felt rather snubbed. He ought perhaps to have
said he was tired, and gone home. On their way down through dark, narrow
streets Miss Jahrman talked all the time to the sculptor, and scarcely
answered when he tried to speak to her. But before he had made up his
mind he saw the other couple vanish through a narrow door down the street.
II
“What’s wrong with Cesca again tonight? We are getting too much of her
tempers lately. Take off your coat, Jenny, or you’ll be cold when you go
out.” Heggen hung his coat and hat on a peg and sat down on a rush chair.
“She is not well, poor girl, and that man Gram, you see, followed us a
while before he dared to speak to us; and anything of that kind always
puts her out of temper; she has a weak heart, you know.”
“Sorry for her. The cheek of the man.”
“Poor thing, he was wandering listlessly about and could not find his
way home. He doesn’t seem used to travelling. Did you know him before?”
“Haven’t the slightest recollection of it. I may have met him somewhere.
Here they are.”
Ahlin took Miss Jahrman’s coat.
“By Jove!” said Heggen. “How smart you are tonight, Cesca. Pretty as
paint.”
She smiled, evidently pleased, and smoothed her hips; then, taking Heggen
by the shoulders: “Move out, please, I want to sit by Jenny.”
How pretty she is, thought Helge. Her dress was a brilliant green, the
skirt so high-waisted that the rounded breasts rose as out of a cup.
There was a golden sheen in the folds of the velvet, and the bodice was
cut low round the pale, full throat. She was very dark; small, jet-black
curls fell from under the brown bell-shaped hat about her soft, rosy
cheeks. The face was that of a little girl, with full, round lids over
deep, brown eyes, and charming dimples about the small, red mouth.
Miss Winge too was good-looking, but could not compete with her friend.
She was as fair as the other was dark; her blonde hair brushed back from
a high, white forehead had tints of flaming gold in it; her skin was a
delicate pink and white. Even the brows and lashes round her steel-grey
eyes were a fair, golden brown. The mouth was too big for her face, with
its short, straight nose and blue-veined temples, and the lips were
pale, but when she smiled, she showed even, pearly teeth. Her figure was
slender: the long, slim neck, the arms covered with a fair, silken down,
and the long, thin hands. She was tall, and so slim that she was almost
like an overgrown boy. She seemed very young. She had a narrow, white
turned-down collar round the V-shaped neck of her dress and revers of
the same kind round her short sleeves. Her dress of soft, pale grey silk
was gathered round the waist and on the shoulders—obviously to make her
look less thin. She wore a row of pink beads round her neck, which were
reflected in rosy spots on her skin.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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