"Well, Irgens, I am yours now, entirely yours! I am going to leave the house—You will thank me, won't you? It will take three years, of course, but then—"
She stopped suddenly; she felt that he was squirming, that he was bracing himself against the inevitable; her terror increased as he remained silent. A few anguished moments went by.
"Well, Hanka, this is rather unfortunate, in a way," he began finally. "You have evidently understood me to mean that when you got your divorce— that if you only were free—Of course, I may have said something to that effect; I admit that if you have interpreted my words literally such a supposition is probably justified. I have most likely said things more than once—"
"Yes, of course," she interrupted; "we have never meant anything else, have we? For you love me, don't you? What is the matter? You are so strange to-day!"
"I am awfully sorry, but really—things are not as they used to be." He looked away sadly and searched for words. "I cannot lie to you, Hanka, and the plain truth is that I am not enraptured by you as much as I used to be. It would hardly be right to deceive you; anyway, I couldn't do it—it is beyond me."
At last she understood; these were plain words. And quietly bending her head, yielding to the inevitable, letting go of the last lingering hope, she whispered in a dull and broken voice:
"Couldn't do it; no—It is all over, irrevocably over—"
He sat there silent.
Suddenly she turned and looked at him. Her white teeth showed beneath the slightly raised upper lip as she endeavoured to force a smile. She said slowly:
"But surely it cannot all be over, Irgens? Remember, I have sacrificed a great deal—"