“What?” said he. He was angry now. “I should have paid, eh? Somebody came along with money—”
“No,” she said. “It was a mistake.”
“Ingeborg!” shouted a great voice.
The girl started a little, but she did not turn.
“I’m very sorry,” she said.
As she spoke, she looked straight at the young man, and she let him see that she really was sorry—as if she were his friend, and really anxious about him. Though she was so young and slight, there was a fine dignity about her.[Pg 508]
“All right—I don’t care,” he said. “I can find another room.”
“There’s a telephone here,” she suggested. “You could—”
“No!” he interrupted roughly.
“Ingeborg!” shouted the voice again. From the basement stairs there appeared a great, fierce old head with grizzled brows and mustache. “You!” cried Oscar. “What you doing here, hey? Who’s this?”