“Come on, Elsie,” she cried impatiently. “It is almost seven o’clock. We must be home by dark.”
Loppen took courage; “May I not walk to town? it is such lovely weather.”
Madam Speckbom looked at Svend and smiled.
“Aha! you have good company, sure enough, I must say. Well, well! Suit yourself then, Elsie; but don’t be too late coming home;”—with that Madam drove off.
She was a very liberal lady, Madam Speckbom, and she saw nothing wrong in the young people being out together in the delightful evening; besides she thought well of Svend’s face.
The two young people walked slowly toward the sea, while Madam took the direct road to town. Loppen was happy over her fortune; but when she a little coquettishly asked Svend if he would accompany her to town, that bungler answered: “Of course I will.”
Loppen felt a little exasperated at that; she was used to gallant cavaliers. But he regained all her favor by climbing the hedge into the bellman’s garden, and stealing a rose for her from a bush which could not be seen from the house.
It was only a simple, pale red garden rose which was left hanging still after the real flowering. But it had the fragrance still—the fragrance of roses which belonged to her dreams.
And while she walked along by his side in the fragrance, she felt again that overwhelming desire to give thanks, to share with some one her good fortune. She could have thrown herself about his neck, have kissed him, have committed the most incredible follies; but he walked a little apart from her, and looked so cold and serious that she was ashamed of herself.
Yet he was even then walking along, tormenting himself with the same matter. He was so dreadfully anxious that they should sit down on the heather and talk with each other; but he was careful not to propose it.