"But surely a man wants his wife to be a companion, auntie--to be able to converse with him on the subjects he is interested in, and to criticise his work, perhaps."
"Does he? Perhaps he does, but it would be a crazy creature of a man who would rather marry a critic than a cook for all that."
Always after this Thora had tea ready when Oscar and Helga returned from the cathedral, and if her heart had its tremors, still she tried to take care that Oscar should never see a tear in her eyes. But many a time when she felt herself to be like an isthmus between the two, holding them together, yet keeping them apart, the strung bow of her will slackened and she was nearly breaking down. She waited day by day for Oscar's heart to speak to her, and when it did not speak she told herself it was because Helga was so beautiful.
"Isn't Helga beautiful, Aunt Margret?"
"Perhaps," said Aunt Margret.
"You know she is, auntie. You know she is the most beautiful girl in Iceland."
"Maybe I do--maybe I don't!"
"What an advantage beauty like Helga's gives to a girl--she gets everything and everybody. If a girl is only beautiful enough, she has all the men at her feet."
"They must he chiropodists, then, and there are not many of them in these parts. No, no, beauty isn't everything, Thora, and that's a mercy for some of us."
The color began to mount to Thora's eyes, and catching sight of this flag of distress, Aunt Margret continued: