Gösta came in; but he neither bowed nor spoke. He stood at the door and looked on the ground like an obstinate boy.
“But, Gösta!” cried Marianne. She sat in her arm-chair and looked at him half amused.
“Yes, that is my name.”
“Come here, come to me, Gösta!”
He went slowly forward to her, but did not raise his eyes.
“Come nearer! Kneel down here!”
“Lord God, what is the use of all that?” he cried; but he obeyed.
“Gösta, I want to tell you that I think it was best that I came home.”
“Let us hope that they will not throw you out in the snow-drift again.”
“Oh, Gösta, do you not care for me any longer? Do you think that I am too ugly?”