“After your mother, yes. Uncle Gert told me so one day.” She laughed. “Have you ever heard anything so absurd! Jealous of Miss Winge.” She looked inquisitively at the two others.
“You need not bother about things that only concern us, Aagot,” said Helge curtly.
“Indeed? I only thought—but never mind; it does not matter.”
“No; it does not in the least.”
Mrs. Gram came in and lit the lamp. Jenny looked almost scared at her angry face. She stood a moment, staring with hard, glittering eyes, then she bent down and picked up Jenny’s scissors, which had fallen on the floor.
“It looks as if it were a speciality of yours to drop things. You should not let things slip through your fingers, Miss Winge. Helge is not as gallant as his father, it seems.” She laughed. “Do you want your lamp?...” She went into the study and pulled the door after her. Helge listened an instant—his mother spoke in a low but angry voice in the other room.
“Can’t you leave that wretched business alone for once?” came distinctly through the door; it was Gram speaking.
Jenny turned to Helge: “I am going home now—I have a headache.”
“Don’t go, Jenny. There will be such a scene if you go. Stay a little longer. Mother will only be more angry if you run away now.”
“I cannot stand it,” she whispered, nearly crying.