“Thanks,” he said, and pressed her fingers; but his thoughts were still far off. And he went on eating without knowing what he ate.
“And what do you think? Louise has begun the violin. You’ve no idea how the little thing takes to it.”
“Oh?”
“And Asta’s got another tooth—she had a wretched time, poor thing, while it was coming through.”
It was as if she were drawing the children up to him, to show him that at least he still had them.
He looked at her for a moment. “Merle, you ought never to have married me. It would have been better for you and for your people too.”
“Oh, nonsense, Peer—you know you’ll be able to make it all right again.”
They went up to bed, and undressed slowly. “He hasn’t noticed me yet,” thought Merle.
And she laughed a little, and said, “I was sitting thinking this evening of the first day we met. I suppose you never think of it now?”
He turned round, half undressed, and looked at her. Her lively tone fell strangely on his ears. “She does not ask how I have got on, or how things are going,” he thought. But as he went on looking at her he began at last to see through her smile to the anxious heart beneath.