He took a dislike to her, but nevertheless she was always in his mind.
In the meantime the mother had one conversation after another with her son, and aunt and sisters never ceased hinting at the anticipated wedding.
Life was made a burden to him. He saw no way of escape from the net in which he had been caught. Louisa was no longer his sister and friend, though he did not like her any the better for it; his constant dwelling on the thought of marrying her had had the result of making him realise that she was a woman, an unsympathetic woman, it was true, but still a woman. His marriage would mean a change in his position, and, perhaps, delivery from bondage. There were no other girls in the neighbourhood, and, after all, she was probably as good as any other young woman.
And so he went one day to his mother and told her that he had made up his mind. He would marry Louisa on condition that he should have an establishment of his own in one of the wings of the house, and his own table. He also insisted that his mother should propose for him, for he could not bring himself to do it.
The compromise was accepted and Louisa was called in to receive Frithiof’s embrace and timid kiss. They both wept for reasons which neither of them understood. They felt ashamed of themselves for the rest of the day. Afterwards everything went on as before, but the motherliness of aunts and sisters knew no bounds. They furnished the wing, arranged the rooms, settled everything; Frithiof was never consulted in the matter.
The preparations for the wedding were completed. Old friends, buried in the provinces, were hunted up and invited to be present at the ceremony.
The wedding took place.
On the morning after his wedding day Frithiof was up early. He left his bed-room as quickly as possible, pretending that his presence was necessary in the fields.
Louisa, who was still sleepy, made no objection. But as he was going out she called after him:
“You won’t forget breakfast at eleven!”