"Do you know," he said, "when you bent toward me and your head was so close to me, I prayed in my heart that you would remain like that! That is the reason I first refused to let you see what I had written."
"Irgens," she said suddenly, in a tender voice, "what would happen if I said yes to you?"
Pause. They looked at each other.
"Then it would happen, of course, that—that you would say no to another."
"Yes—but it is too late now, too late! It is not to be considered—But if it is any comfort to you to know it, then I can say that you are not the only one to grieve—"
He took this beautifully. He seized her hand and pressed it silently, with a happy glance, and he let it go at once.
They walked along the road. They had never been closer to each other. When they reached the new fence the workman took off his cap. They stopped before a gate; they looked at each other a moment and turned back. They did not speak.
They came back to the carriage. During the drive Irgens held all Aagot's bundles in his arms. He did not move and was not in the least insistent.
She was really touched by his tactful behaviour, and when he finally asked her to stay another day she consented.
But when the carriage had to be paid for he searched his pockets in vain; at last he had to ask her to pay the driver herself. She was pleased to be able to do that; she only wished she had thought of it at once. He had looked quite crestfallen.