Aagot. Then you must have frightened the sense out of him, aunt. He is shy, you know.—Aunt, let me tell you he is studying for the church.
Leonarda. Oh, he is that too, is he!
Aagot. Of course he is. You know he is the bishop's nephew, and is studying for the church, and of course that is what made him so prejudiced. But his behaviour that day was just what opened his eyes—because he is very kind-hearted. Dear, darling aunt—
Leonarda. Get up! It is silly to lie there like that. Where did you learn that trick?
Aagot (getting up). I am sure I don't know. But you frighten me so. (Cries.)
Leonarda. I can't help that. You frightened me first, you know, child.
Aagot. Yes, but it is all quite different from what you think, aunt. He is no longer our enemy. He has reproached himself so genuinely for treating you as he did—it is perfectly true, aunt. We all heard him say so. He said so first to other people, so that it should come round to me; and then I heard him saying so to them; and eventually he told me so, in so many words.
Leonarda. Why did you not write and tell me?
Aagot. Because you are not like other people, aunt! If I had as much as mentioned he was there, you would have told me to come home again at once. You aren't like others, you know.
Leonarda. But how in the world did it come about that you—?