‘No, not so much, of course.’
‘Do you love her, Greif?’
‘Oh yes,’ replied Greif cheerfully. ‘Not as I love you—’
‘Or your father?’
‘That is different, a man feels more sympathy for his father, because he is a man.’
‘But I am not a man—’
‘No, and you are not my mother either. That is again different, you see.’
‘Greif—you do not love your mother at all!’ exclaimed Hilda, turning her bright eyes to his. But he looked away and his face grew grave.
‘Please do not say that to me, dear,’ he answered quietly. ‘Let us talk of other things.’
‘Does it pain you? I am sorry. I asked you because—well, I wanted to know if it was exactly my duty—because—you see, I do not think I ever could, quite, as I ought to. You are not angry?’