“Why should we talk of the impossible?” she asked.
“What is impossible?” he exclaimed.
“That a wealthy gentleman like you should marry a poor girl like me.”
There was no denying the aptitude of her remark, and Frithiof felt that he was worsted. His love for her was boundless, but he could see no possibility of bringing his doe safely through the pack which guarded house and home; they would tear her to pieces.
After this conversation he gave himself up to mute despair.
In the autumn the gardener gave notice and left the estate without giving a reason. For six weeks Frithiof was inconsolable, for he had lost his first and only love; he would never love again.
In this way the autumn slowly passed and winter stood before the door. At Christmas a new officer of health came into the neighbourhood. He had grown-up children, and as the aunts were always ill, friendly relations were soon established between the two families. Among the doctor’s children was a young girl and before long Frithiof was head over ears in love with her. He was at first ashamed of his infidelity to his first love, but he soon came to the conclusion that love was something impersonal, because it was possible to change the object of one’s tenderness; it was almost like a power of attorney made out on the holder.
As soon as his guardians got wind of this new attachment, the mother asked her son for a private interview.
“You have now arrived at that age,” she began, “when a man begins to look out for a wife.”
“I have already done that, my dear mother,” he replied.