"Yes," answered she. "The Norwegian young people associate with each other more like brothers and sisters than those of other countries, and are consequently different—freer, franker. They have infected me."
One morning Jörgen had to go to town, and Mary accompanied him. She wished to call on Uncle Klaus, his foster-father, whom she had not seen since she came home.
Klaus was sitting behind a cloud of smoke, like a spider behind its grey web. He jumped up when he saw Mary enter, declared he was ashamed of himself, and led her into the big drawing-room. Jörgen had warned her that he was not likely to be in a good humour; he had been losing money again. And they had not sat long in the empty, stiff drawing-room before he began to complain of the times. As was his habit, he rounded his back and sprawled out his legs, supporting his elbows on them and pressing the points of his long fingers together.
"Yes, you two are well off, who do nothing but amuse yourselves!"
He possibly thought that this remark demanded some reparation, for his next was: "I have never seen a handsomer pair!"
Jörgen laughed, but coloured to the roots of his hair. Mary sat unmoved.
Jörgen accompanied her to the house on the market-place; it was quite near. He did not say a word on the way, and took leave immediately. Afterwards he sent to let her know that he would be obliged to stay in town till the evening; then he would cycle out. Mary herself left at the previously appointed hour.
On her way home in the steamer she revolved the idea: Jörgen Thiis and herself a pair. No! This she had never contemplated. He was a handsome, well-bred man, a courteous, pleasant companion, a really gifted musician. His ability, his tact, were unanimously acknowledged. Even that which at one time had repelled her so strongly, the sensuality, which would suddenly leap into his eyes and produce that insufferable gloating expression—perhaps it was of this underlying quality that all the rest were cultivated developments? Might it not account for his appreciation of the perfect in art, in discipline, in language? Still there remained something unexplained. But it was a matter of indifference to her what it was. She cast all these reflections aside; it was no concern of hers.
As she came on board she had noticed a peasant-woman who had once been their servant; now she went and sat down beside her. The woman was gratified.
"And how is your father, Miss? I am old now, and I have known many people in my day, but never a kinder man than Mr. Krog. There's no one like him."