Helge kissed her hand, asking quietly: “When?”
“When you like,” she answered as quietly—and firmly.
Again he kissed her hand.
“What a pity we can’t be married out here,” he said a moment after in a different voice.
She did not answer, but stroked his hair softly. Helge sighed:
“But I suppose we ought not to, as we are going home so soon in any case. Your mother would feel hurt, don’t you think, at such a hurried marriage?”
Jenny was silent. It had never occurred to her that she owed her mother any account of her doings—her mother had not consulted her when she had wanted to marry again.
“It would hurt my people, I know. I don’t like to admit it, but it is so, and I should much prefer to write and tell them that I am engaged. As you are going home before me, it would be nice of you to go and see them.”
Jenny bent her head as if to shake off a disagreeable sensation, and said:
“I will, dear, if you wish me to—of course.”