“Yes—oh yes.” She threw herself suddenly into his arms and kissed him; her half-open lips and closed eyes begged for more kisses; his words about their spring, that should never cease, awoke a painful anxiety in her heart that the spring and their dream would come to an end. And yet behind it all was a dread, which she did not try to explain to herself, but it came into existence when he asked if she wished they could always be together.
“I wish I were not going home,” said Helge sadly.
“But I am going home soon too,” she said softly, “and we shall probably come back here together.”
“You are quite determined to go? Are you sorry that I have upset all your plans in this way?”
She gave him a hurried kiss and ran to the kettle, which was boiling over.
“No, you silly boy. I had almost made up my mind before, because mamma wants me badly.” She gave a short laugh. “I am ashamed of myself—she is so pleased that I am coming home to help her, and it is really only to be with my lover. But it is all right. I can live cheaper at home even if I help them a little, and I may be able to earn something. What I can save now, I shall want here later.”
Helge took the cup she gave him and seized her hand:
“But next time you come here you will come with me; for I suppose you will—you mean—that we should marry?”
His face was so young and so anxiously inquiring that she had to kiss him several times, forgetting that she had been afraid of that word, which had not been mentioned between them before.
“I suppose that will be the most practical plan, you dear boy, since we have agreed to be together always.”