Now I could think two ways about her coming: either she had turned thoroughly sentimental at being reminded so directly of her home once more, or she wanted to make her engineer jealous; he might perhaps be watching us from his window that very moment, and I had been sent for to go back to Øvrebø. Possibly she was thoroughly calculating, and had been trying to work on his jealousy even yesterday, when she studied the letter so attentively. It seemed, however, that none of my clever theories was to be confirmed. It was me she wanted to see, and that only to make a sort of apology for getting me dismissed. That she should ever care about such a trifle! Was she so incapable of thinking seriously that she could not see what a miserable position she herself was in? What in the devil's name had she to do with my affairs? I had thought to say a brief word or so and point to the train, but something made me gentle, as if I were dealing with an irresponsible, a child. “You'll be going back to Øvrebø now, I suppose?” she said. “And I thought I'd like.... H'm!... You're sorry to be leaving here, perhaps? No? No, no, of course not. But I must tell you something: It was I that got you dismissed.” “It doesn't matter.” “No, no. Only, I wanted to tell you. Now that you're going back to Øvrebø. You can understand it was a little unpleasant for me at times to....” She checked herself. “To have me about the place. Yes, it would be unpleasant.” “To see you here. A _little_ unpleasant; I mean, because you knew about me before. So I asked the engineer if he couldn't send you away. Not that he wanted to himself, you understand. Quite the reverse, in fact, but he did at last. I'm glad you're going back to Øvrebø.” “So?” said I. “But when Fruen comes home again surely it will be just as unpleasant to see me then?” “Home?” she repeated. “I'm not going home.” Pause. She had frowned as she spoke. But now she nodded, and even smiled a little, and turned to go. “Well, well, you'll pardon me, then, I know,” she said. “Have you any objection to my going back to Captain Falkenberg?” I asked. She stopped, and looked me full in the face. Now, what was the right thing here? Three times she had spoken of Øvrebø. Was it with the idea that I might put in a word for her if opportunity offered, when I got back there? Or was she unwilling to ask of me as a favour not to go? “No, no, indeed I've not!” she answered. “Go there, by all means.” And she turned and left me. Neither sentimental nor calculating, as far as I could see. But she might well have been both. And what had I gained by my attempt at a confidential tone? I should have known better than to try, whether she stayed here or went elsewhere. What business was it of mine? 'Twas her affair.