"I should think so, indeed, with its crosses and disappointments, and children and croup, and all the rest of it. And when it comes to marrying, the silliest of the men know that, bless them!"
"What a lot you know about the men, auntie darling--I wonder you never married, yourself, dear."
"That's why, my precious!"
It was easier for Thora to veil her agonies with smiles after this conversation. She pictured to herself the time when her love would be everything to Oscar. In the secret places of her soul she thought of the days when children would come, and perhaps even sickness, and they would be drawn close--so close--together, because the dear clouds of life hung over both of them. She was not beautiful, she was only a homely and humble little thing, she was unworthy of Oscar, and there were so many things in which she was inferior, but oh, her love was wonderful! Nothing in the world was so wonderful as her love. It would work miracles, it would be stronger than death, it would stand by Oscar to the end.
But all the same it was hard to receive her wounds without a cry, and when Oscar and Helga went off to the cathedral and left her at home she told herself she was too ignorant to be Oscar's wife, and all her sweet, heroic love was wasted.
"Don't you think Helga is very clever, Aunt Margret?"
Aunt Margret lifted her eyes from her knitting, and blinked through her spectacles.
"Clever?--a girl who can't darn a stocking or boil a potato!"
"But see how she can talk, auntie."
"So can the parrot, my dear, and the raven is seldom sparing of his voice either."