“Of course I am fond of her.” “I should think it would be a good thing to talk to her about it—get her advice.” “It is no good asking anybody’s advice—I don’t like to speak to any one about these things,” she said, wishing to dismiss the subject. “No, you are perhaps....” He had been standing half-way turned to the window. Suddenly his face changed, and he whispered in a state of excitement: “Jenny, she is down there in the street!” “Who?” “She—Rebecca!” Jenny rose. She felt she could have screamed with exasperation and disgust. She trembled; every fibre of her body was quivering with revolt. She _would_ not be involved in all this—these wicked, odious suspicions, quarrels, spiteful words, and scenes—no, she would _not_. “Jenny, my child, you are shivering—don’t be afraid. I won’t let her hurt you.” “Afraid? Far from it.” She steeled herself at once. “I have been here to fetch you; we have looked at your drawings, and we are now going to your house to supper.” “She may not have noticed anything.” “Heavens! we have nothing to hide. If she had not seen that I am here she will soon get to know it. I am going with you; we must do it for your sake as well as for mine—do you hear?” Gram looked at her: “Yes, let us go, then.” When they got down in the street Mrs. Gram was gone. “Let us take the tram, Gert; it is late,” she said, adding in a sudden temper: “Oh, we must stop all this—if only for Helge’s sake.” * * * * * Mrs. Gram opened the door. Gert Gram ventured an explanation; Jenny looked frankly into the angry eyes of his wife: “I am sorry Helge is out for the evening. Do you think he will be home early?” “I am surprised you did not remember it,” Mrs. Gram said to her husband. “It is no pleasure to Miss Winge to sit here with us two old people.” “Oh, that is all right,” said Jenny. “I don’t remember hearing that Helge was going out this evening,” said Gram. * * * * * “Fancy your coming without any needlework,” said Mrs. Gram, when they were sitting in the drawing-room after supper. “You are always so industrious.” “I left the studio so late, I had no time to go home in between. Perhaps you could find me something?” Jenny conversed with Mrs. Gram about the price of embroidery patterns at home and in Paris, and about books she had lent her. Gram was reading. Now and again she felt his eyes on her. Helge returned about eleven. “What is the matter?” he asked, when they walked down the stairs. “Has there been a scene again?” “No, not at all,” she replied, in a short, irritated voice. “I suppose your mother did not like my coming home with your father.” “It seems to me, too, that you need not have done it,” said Helge humbly. “I am going home by tram.” Overwrought, and unable to control herself, she pulled her arm out of his. “I cannot stand any more tonight, and I will not have these scenes with you every time I have been to your home. Good-night.”