“Well, what have I done, anyhow?” he asked himself.
V
Up at the top of the house he found Ingeborg sitting on the stairs, in the twilight. She was leaning her head against the wall, and her hands were folded in her lap. He stood looking down at her for a long while, but she paid no heed to him.
“Well!” he said, with a rough affectation of carelessness. “What you doing here?”
“Nothing,” she answered coldly.
Pain came over him like a wave, because of that coldness.
“Ingeborg,” he said, “what makes you so mad at me?”
“Go away, please! I don’t want to talk to you.”
He could see her only dimly, and he dared not go a step nearer to her, or even stretch out his hand.
“Ingeborg,” he said, “if I told you I was sorry—”