Such an effort it was to say that!
“It wouldn’t make any difference,” said she.
“What?” cried Gunnar. “If I’m sorry?”
“No!” said Ingeborg.
It was like a blow to him. He could not speak for a time. He had humbled himself again, and still she was cold and stern—and still so dear to him!
“She’s right!” he cried, in his heart. “If she knew—”
Suppose she did know? He was ready to believe that her clear and innocent glance had a terrible penetration. He could not understand her. Perhaps, in some way of her own, she did know all the wrong things he had done.
“Ingeborg!” he cried. “I—I’m sorry I did that! I—”
Despair and pain choked him. In his blind need for her kindness, he came close to her, sat down on the step below her, and buried his head in his hands.
“If you would marry me, Ingeborg,” he said, “then I’d be different![Pg 514]”