He blushed suddenly. It struck him that Jenny might think it tactless of him to speak like that before her—now. But she only laughed:
“What mad things you do!”
As Heggen went on talking, the unnatural, painful shyness gradually left her. Once or twice, when she did not notice it, his eyes anxiously scanned her face—heavens! how thin and hollow-eyed she was, and furrowed about the mouth. The sinews of her neck were prominent, and there were a couple of ugly lines across the throat.
The rain had stopped, and she consented to go for a walk with him. They walked in the sea-mist along the deserted road with the scraggy poplars.
“Take my arm,” said Gunnar casually, and Jenny took it, feeling heavy and tired.
“It must be awfully dull for you here, Jenny—don’t you think it would be much better if you went to Berlin?”
Jenny shook her head.
“You would have the museums there to go to and other things besides—and somebody to be with at times. You don’t care to go to National anyway. Won’t you come, just for a bit of a change? You must be deadly dull here.”
“Oh no, Gunnar—I could not go now, you understand.”
“You look quite nice in that ulster,” said Gunnar cautiously, after a short pause.