Helge was silent.
“I did not like it myself,” she continued. “But what could I do? He called on me, you see, and I like him very much. I am getting quite fond of your father.”
“Father can be very attractive, I know—and then you are an artist, too.”
“He likes me for your sake, dear. I know it is so.”
Helge did not answer.
“And you have only seen mother once?”
“Yes—but are you not hungry? Let me give you something to eat.”
“No, thanks. We’ll go out and have supper somewhere together.”
There was a knock at the door again. “It is your father,” whispered Jenny.