“Dare?” said Gunnar. “Do you think I’m afraid of you?”
But he let her go; for he was afraid, and ashamed, and terribly hurt.
“Gunnar Jespersen!” she said. “Take me home!”
“You came out with me quick enough,” argued Gunnar.
“Take me home!” repeated Ingeborg.
“You can’t talk to me like that,” said Gunnar. “I’ll go when I’m ready.”
But, just the same, he had to obey her. He turned the car and started back. He was sick to the soul with shame and disappointment. He had offered her everything, and she returned him only scorn and anger. Never before in his life had any woman been able to hurt him so. Whether it was anger or pure sorrow that he felt, he did not know; but it seemed to him that he could not endure it.
He wanted to say something that would hurt her; but when he looked at her, he could not. She had grown pale again, and sat very straight, looking before her, so stern and cold, and still dear to him. He could not endure it.
He stopped the car before a drug store.
“Going to telephone,” he said.