IX
The Factor's house was full of the sweet smell of the baking of cakes, and Thora and Aunt Margret were in the kitchen with the fronts of their gowns tucked up to their waists, their sleeves turned back, and rolling-pins in their hands, behind a table laden with soft dough and sprinkled with flour.
"Here's Magnus at last!" said Aunt Margret, "and perhaps he can tell me how it happened that you came home without him yesterday."
Magnus did his best to laugh it off. "That's a long story, auntie," he said. "A horse's shoe isn't made at a blow, and I want to speak to Thora."
"Mind you don't keep her long, then. If we're to be ready for all the people who are coming to-morrow there's work here to-day for a baker's dozen."
Magnus went up to the little sitting-room with the Barnholme clock in it, and Thora followed. There were dark rings under her eyes, and her manner was nervous and restless.
"I am ashamed of what happened yesterday," she said, "and I ask you to forgive and forget."
"I cannot do either," said Magnus, "that is to say, not yet, and in the way you mean."
Thora's eyes began to fill. "Don't be too hard on me, Magnus. I'm trying to make amends, and it isn't very easy."
"I'm not so hard on you as you are on yourself, Thora, and I'm here to tell you not to do yourself an injustice."