"I don't want to leave this house," she said. "I don't want any home but this. I should be wretched if you took me away."
As she spoke, she glanced helplessly at the fresh flowers on Oom Peter's desk, placed there daily by her faithful, loving little fingers.
"I'm sure Oom Peter would like to think of me as here, among our dear, dear flowers!"
Frederik tried to reassure her as one does a child, and answered soothingly:
"Of course—but what you need is a change, yes?"
Kathrien turned away and traced a pattern on the newel post with her slender fingers. She found it very hard to talk. After a moment, she went on:
"I—I've always wanted to please Oom Peter.—I always felt that I owed everything to him—if he had lived and I could have seen his happiness over our marriage, that would have made me happy, almost. But he's gone—and every day—the longer he's away from me, the more I see for myself that I don't feel toward you as I ought. You know it. But I want to tell you again. I'm perfectly willing to marry you. Only—I'm afraid I can't make you happy."
Looking at him with sorrowful, perplexed eyes, she went on:
"It's so disloyal to speak like this after I promised him; but, Frederik, it's true."
Frederik found it hard to keep his patience; yet he continued to reason with Kathrien in a voice even gentler than before, though with an accent of finality in it that she could not disregard as he said: