He continued talking while he was brushing off her dress. She must pardon him; he was not like everybody else, he was a poet; when it came over him he must yield. But he would give her no further cause for complaint if she would only stay.... Wouldn't she mind going away the least little bit, though? No, of course, he had no false illusions. Pause. He was waiting for her to answer, to contradict him; perhaps she would go to Torahus a little regretfully after all? But she remained silent. Did she, then, hold him in so slight regard? Impossible! Still, the thought began to worry him; he felt aggrieved, hurt, almost slighted. He repeated his question: Did all his love for her not call forth the tiniest responsive spark in her heart? She answered gently and sorrowfully: "Please do not ask. What do you think Ole would say if he heard you?" Ole? He had not given him a thought. Did he really play the role of competitor to Ole Henriksen? It was too ridiculous. He could not believe that she meant what she had said. Ole might be all right as far as that went; he bought and sold, went his peddler rounds through life, paid his bills and added dollars to his hoard. That was all. Did money really matter so much to her? God knows, perhaps even this girlish little head had its concealed nook where thoughts were figuring in crowns and pennies! Irgens was silent for an instant; he felt the pangs of jealousy. Ole might be able to hold her; he was tall and blue-eyed--perhaps she even preferred him? "Ole?" he said. "I do not care in the least what he would say. Ole does not exist for me; it is you I love." She seemed startled for the first time; she frowned a little and began to walk away. "This is too contemptible!" she said. "I wish you hadn't said that. So it is me you love? Well, don't tell me any more about it." "Miss Aagot--one word only. Don't you care the least little bit for me?" He had seized her arm; she had to look at him. He was too violent; he did not control himself as he had promised; he was not very handsome now. She answered: "I love Ole; I hope you understand that." The sun sank deeper. People had left the island; only an occasional late straggler was still seen walking along the road toward the city. Irgens did not ask questions any more; he spoke only when necessary. Aagot tried in vain to start a conversation; she had all she could do to keep her heart under control. When they were in the boat again he said: "Perhaps you would have preferred to drive back alone? I may be able to find a hackman for you, if you like." "Now don't be angry any more!" she said. She could hardly keep her eyes from brimming over; she forced herself to think of indifferent matters in order to regain control over herself; she gazed back toward the island, followed the flight of a bird that sailed gracefully above the water. She asked: "Is that water over there?" "No," he answered; "it is a meadow; the dew makes it look dark."