“No!” she said; but her voice was not cold now.
“Ingeborg!” he cried. “Do you like me?”
“I don’t know you, Gunnar Jespersen,” said Ingeborg with dignity.
He rose, chilled and hopeless.
“Well,” he said, “I’m going.”
Her clear little voice came to him through the dark:
“Maybe I will like you when I know you, Gunnar Jespersen!”
He spun around. She had risen, and was standing close to him. He put out his hand, but she drew back, and his arm fell to his side. He must not touch her. He must wait. She had given him hope, and that was all.
And it was enough. He had found at last the beloved maiden who must be won. It would be hard, but it was good; it was what he wanted. It was a challenge worthy of him.
“All right!” he said. “You’ll see!”