For some time, however, he refrained, shy and uncertain of himself. And while he sat hesitating, he noticed that she had grown silent again. She seemed to be trying to say something that was hard to begin.
At last, however, she made up her mind and came straight to the matter at once.
"You saw I was crying when you came up before?"
"Yes," he said. "I could not help seeing that."
"It wasn't anything very much," she said. "Only a letter that came. It was from a friend of mine, a rich man's daughter, just married, and her husband was such a good man, clever, and looked up to by everyone; we all thought she would be so happy."
"And now—you mean she is not?" Sven laid both hands on the tiller and leaned forward. He seemed keenly interested in all that concerned this friend of hers.
"No," she answered, looking out over the sea, as if seeking to avoid his glance. "She is not happy. She writes that her husband is always displeased with her somehow. And she can't understand it. She asked if I could tell her what it might be. But I can't. I would gladly help her, but I can't understand it myself. So you can understand I was sorry. That was why I couldn't help crying."
"Yes, I understand," Sven replied. "But your husband, lady. Pastor Rhånge is a man of great experience. Ought you not to ask him about it?"
Fru Rhånge coloured, and gave him a quick glance, almost of suspicion. But his eyes met hers frankly and openly, without a thought of anything to conceal, and she went on:
"I do not think she would like me to speak to my husband about it. It is always when they have been out anywhere and are driving home that he is—displeased with her. Hardly speaks to her at all. And whenever she tries to say anything, he only answers with an unkind word or a sneer."