“Frithiof,” she said, “what is the matter with you? Have you and Herr Sivertsen had a quarrel?”
“The matter is this” he said hoarsely, checking his restlessness with an effort and leaning against the mantel-piece as he talked to her. “I came back just now and found Swanhild reading the newspaper—reading the Romiaux Divorce Case, thoroughly fascinated by it too.”
“I had no idea it had begun,” said Sigrid. “We so seldom see an English paper; how did this one happen to be lying about?”
“Roy gave it to me to look at an account of Norway; I didn’t know this was in it too. However, I gave Swanhild a scolding that she’ll not soon forget.”
Sigrid looked up anxiously, asking what he had said and listening with great dissatisfaction to his reply.
“You did very wrong indeed,” she said warmly. “You forget that Swanhild is perfectly innocent and ignorant; you have wronged her very cruelly, and she will feel that, though she wont understand it.”
Now Frithiof, although he was proud and hasty, was neither ungenerous nor conceited; as soon as he had cooled down and looked at the question from this point of view, he saw at once that he had been wrong.
“I will go to her and beg her pardon,” he said at length.
“No, no, not just yet,” said Sigrid, with the feeling that men were too clumsy for this sort of work. “Leave her to me.”
She rapped softly at the bedroom door and after a minute’s pause heard the key turned in the lock. When she entered the room was quite dark, and Swanhild, with her face turned away, was vigorously washing her hands. Sigrid began to hunt for some imaginary need in her box, waiting till the hands were dry before she touched on the sore subject. But presently she plunged boldly into the heart of the matter.