“What! he has proposed to you?” said Fru Grönvold, dropping her work. “Did he speak to you to-day, dear?”
“Yes,” said Sigrid, blushing crimson.
“And you said you would let him have his answer later on. I see, dear, I see. Of course you could not ask him in.”
“I said nothing of the sort,” said Sigrid vehemently. “I told him that I could never think of marrying him, and we shall still be the good friends we have always been.”
“My dear child,” cried Fru Grönvold, with genuine distress in her tone, “how could you be so foolish, so blind to all your own interests? He is a most excellent fellow, good and steady and rich—all that heart could wish.”
“There I don’t agree with you,” said Sigrid perversely. “I should wish my husband to be very different. He is just like Torvald in Ibsen’s ‘Et Dukkehjem,’ we always told him so.”
“Pray don’t quote that hateful play to me,” said Fru Grönvold. “Every one knows that Ibsen’s foolish ideas about women being equal to men and sharing their confidence could only bring misery and mischief. Torvald Lundgren is a good, upright, honorable man, and your refusing him is most foolish.”
“He is very good, I quite admit,” said Sigrid. “He is my friend, and has been always, and will be always. But if he were the only man on earth nothing would induce me to marry him. It would only mean wretchedness for us both.”
“Well, pray don’t put your foolish notions about equality and ideal love into Karen’s head,” said Fru Grönvold sharply. “Since you are so stupid and unpractical it will be well that Karen should accept the first good offer she receives.”
“We are not likely to discuss the matter,” said Sigrid, and rising to her feet she hurriedly left the room.