Henrik
stepped up behind the girl and placed his hands under her chin. She did
not turn her head.
"This is a surprise," he said, "but I am _so_ glad to see you. Did you
have a pleasant time at Skarpen?"
There was no reply. The young woman still surveyed the garden and the
darkening shadows on the lawn.
"What is the matter, little girl?" he asked. He felt the trembling of
her chin as she removed his hands.
"No," she replied, "I did not have a good time."
"I'm sorry. What was wrong?"
"You were not there--you were somewhere else, where your heart is more
than with me--you were, no doubt at Osterhausgade." She hardened her
tone as she proceeded.
"Oh, I'm not there all the time," he laughed.
"You think more of the people you meet there than you do of me, at any
rate."
"What makes you think so?"
"You, and your actions. O, Henrik, could you but hear the talk--I hear
it, and people look so strangely at me, and pity me ... I can't stand
it!" She arose as if to escape him, walked across the room, then sat
down by the center table.
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