"No, I don't suppose I should!" replied Knutty. "Other people would do the laughing for me."
"No," said Gerda. "They should not laugh at you in my presence, I can tell you."
"Ah," said Knutty, "you're pure gold, kjaere. There, don't fret about that wretch Ejnar. If he ran away from you, we could easily overtake him. He'd be stopping to look at all the plants on the wayside; and the lady, no matter who she was, would leave him in disgust. No self-respecting eloping female could stand that, you know. Come. There's the bell ringing for smoked salmon and cheese."
But although Knutty kept up her spirits that evening, she was greatly disturbed by her talk with Alan, and distressed to know how to help him. When she went to her room, she sat for a long time at the window, thinking and puzzling. Not a single helpful idea suggested itself to her. Her heart was full of pity for the boy and concern for the father. She reflected that it was in keeping with Marianne's character to leave this unnecessary trouble behind her: that all the troubles Marianne ever made had always been perfectly unnecessary. And she worked herself into a rage at the mere thought of Mrs Stanhope, Marianne's friend.
"The beast," she said, "the metallic beast! I'd like to see her whole machinery lynched."
After that she could not keep still, but walked up and down her big room, turning everything over in her mind until her brain was nearly distraught. Once she stood rigid for a moment.
"Had Clifford anything to hide about his wife's death?" she asked herself.
"No, no," she replied angrily. "That is ridiculous—I'm a fool to think of it even for a moment."
Her mind wandered back to the time of Marianne's death. She remembered the doctor had said that Marianne had died from some shock.
"Had Clifford lost his self-control that last night when, by his own telling, he and Marianne had some unhappy words together, and had he perhaps terrified her?" she asked herself.