“Perhaps she thinks of your brother—thinks of him with quiet sorrow?”
“That I do not think is the case,” replied Sophie; “otherwise Louise would have heard something of it. She possesses Eva’s entire confidence. You may make yourself easy, if you are jealous!”
“What make you conjecture this? My thoughts are directed above, and not beneath me!” said he, with a kind of pride, “I feel that I could never fall in love with Eva. Feel love toward her? no! Even when I think of it, I feel almost as though I had some prejudice against her. But you joke; you will rally me, as you have so often done. We shall soon part! Only two months longer shall I remain in Denmark! Two long years abroad! How much may occur in that time! Will you think of me—really think of me, Miss Sophie?” He bent, and kissed her hand.
Sophie became crimson. Both were silent.
“Are you here!” said the mother, who came out of a side walk.
Otto stooped lower, and broke one of the beautiful stocks which hung over the border.
“Are you taking Louise’s favorite flowers?” said she, smiling. “This bed is declared to be inviolable.”
“I was so unfortunate as to break it!” said Otto, confused.
“He wished to gather the dark-red pink for my table-garland!” said Sophie. “If he took it, my conscience would be clear!”
And they all three walked along speaking of cherries, gooseberries, of the linen on the bleaching-ground, and of the warm summer’s day.