“Well, it’s hard to say. We don’t always understand what you women want with this or that man. We imagine that we choose for ourselves, but we are more like our brothers, the dumb animals, than we care to think. Some say we are disposed to love—because of our natural state—place and opportunity do the rest.”
“Ugh!” said Francesca, shrugging her shoulders. “If that is so, you, I should say, are always disposed.”
Gunnar laughed reluctantly: “Or I have never been disposed enough; I have never thought of any woman as the only one—and so on, and that is an essential condition in love—because of our natural state.”
Francesca stared thoughtfully in front of her.
“I daresay you are right. But it happens sometimes that one falls in love with somebody for some special reason—not only because time and circumstances are favourable. I for one love him—you know who I mean—because I don’t understand him. It seems to me impossible that anybody could really be what he appeared to be. I always expected something would happen that would explain what I saw. I searched for the hidden treasure. You know how desperately anxious one gets to find the longer one seeks. Even now, when I think that some other woman may find it, I.... But there are some who love because the loved one is perfect to them—can give them all they need. Have you ever been in love with any woman to such an extent that you thought everything in her was right and good and beautiful—that you could love everything in her?”
“No,” he said briskly.
“But that is real love, don’t you think? And that is how I thought Jenny would love, but it is impossible for her to love Helge Gram like that.”
“I don’t know him really. I know only that he is not so stupid as he looks—as the saying goes—I mean, there is more in him than you’d think at first sight. I suppose Jenny has found out his real value.”
Cesca was quiet. She lit a cigarette and watched the flame of the wax vesta till it burnt out.
“Have you noticed that he always asks, ‘Don’t you think?’ and ‘Is it not?’? Has it not struck you that there is something effeminate, something unfinished, about him?”