Mrs. Gram walked through the room. Gram came in and joined them.
“Jenny is tired; she is going now. I will see her home.”
“Are you going already? Can’t you stay a little longer?”
“I have a headache and I am tired,” murmured Jenny.
“Please stay a little,” he whispered to her. “She”—he indicated the kitchen with his head—“does not say anything to you, and while you are here we are spared a scene.”
Jenny sat down quietly and took up her needlework again. Aagot crocheted energetically at a hospital shawl.
Gram went to the piano. Jenny was not musical, but she understood that he was, and by and by she became calm as he played softly—all for her, she felt.
“Do you know this one, Miss Winge?”
“No.”
“Nor you either, Helge? Did you not hear it in Rome? In my time it was sung everywhere. I have some books with Italian songs.”