I stood up straight again the moment I saw she was displeased, but it was too late. She was just as kind as ever, but she had grown suspicious and easily hurt with all her trouble, and found rudeness in what was merely awkwardness of mine. “Well, well,” she said, “I hope you find yourself as comfortable now at Øvrebø as before.” And she nodded and walked away. * * * * * Some days passed. The Captain had not come back, but he had sent a post card, with a kind message, to Fruen: he hoped to be home again next week. He was also sending pipes, taps, and cement for the water supply. Fruen showed me that card. “Here,” she said, “the Captain has sent these things for your work. You had better get them down from the station.” We stood there together, looking at the card; mid-day it was, and we were just outside the house. I can't say how it was, but I was standing there quite close to her, with my head bent in towards hers, and it made me feel happy all through. When she had finished reading she looked up at me. No play of her eyes now; but she must have caught some expression in my face, for she looked at me still. Did she feel my presence as I felt hers? Those two heavy eyes raised towards mine and held there were loaded to the brim with love. She could not be responsible for her actions now. There was a pathological depth in her glance, an influence from far within, from the life she bore under her heart. Her breath came heavily, her face flushed dark all over, then she swung round and walked slowly away. There I stood, with the card in my hand. Had she given it to me? Had I taken it? “Your card,” I said. “Shall I....” She held out her hand without looking round, and walked on. This little episode occupied my mind a great deal for some days. Ought I to have gone after her when she walked away? Oh, I might have tried, might have made the attempt--her door was not far off. Pathological? But what had she brought me the card for at all? She could have told me by word of mouth what there was to say. I called to mind how six years before we had stood in just that same way reading a telegram the Captain had sent her. Did she find pleasure in situations of that sort, and go out of her way to seek them? Next time I saw her there was no trace of any embarassment in her manner--she was kind and cold. So I had to let it drop altogether. And, anyhow, what did I want with her at all? No, indeed!