“I love you very dearly, Helge,” she said, crying piteously. “Thank you,” he said, kissing her hand. “I know you cannot help it, poor darling, that you don’t love me.” “Helge,” she said imploringly. “You cannot say that you wish me to stay because you would not be able to live without me. Dare you take the responsibility for everything that may happen if you say you love me—only so as not to send me away in sadness?” Jenny sat looking down. Helge put on his overcoat. “Good-bye, Jenny.” He clasped her hand. “Are you going away from me, Helge?” “Yes. I am going.” “And you will not come back?” “Not unless you can say what I asked you to say.” “I cannot say it now,” she whispered in agony. Helge touched her hair lightly, and left. * * * * * Jenny remained on the sofa crying long and bitterly—her mind a perfect blank. Tired with crying, and worn out after all these months of petty, racking humiliation and quarrels, she felt her heart empty and cold. Helge was probably right. After a while she began to feel hungry, and, looking at her watch, saw it was six. She had been sitting like this for four hours. When she rose to put on her coat she noticed that she had had it on all the time. By the door she perceived a small pool of water running on to some of her pictures standing against the wall. She went for a duster to wipe it up, and, realizing suddenly that the pool was left from Helge’s umbrella, she leaned her forehead against the door and cried again. VIII Her dinner did not take long. She tried to read a paper to divert her mind for a moment, but it was no good. She might just as well go home and sit there. On the upper landing a man stood waiting. He was tall and thin. She took the last steps running, calling out Helge’s name. “It is not Helge,” came the answer. It was his father. Jenny stood breathless before him, stretching out her hands: “Gert—what is it?—has anything happened?” “Hush, hush!” He took her hand. “Helge has gone—he went to Kongsberg on a visit to a friend—a schoolfellow of his who lives there. Were you afraid, child, that something else had happened?” “Oh, I don’t know.” “My dear Jenny—you are quite beside yourself.” She went past him in the passage and opened her door. There was still daylight in the studio and Gert Gram looked at her. He was pale himself. “Do you feel it so much? Helge said—at least that is what I understood him to say—that you have agreed to—that you both think you are not suited to each other.” Jenny was silent. Hearing somebody else say it, she wanted to protest. Up to now she had not quite realized that it was all over, but here was this man saying that they had agreed to part, and Helge had gone and her love for him was gone—she could not find it in her any more. It was all over, but, heavens! how was it possible, when she had not wanted it to end? “Does it hurt so much?” he asked again. “Do you still love him?”