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peaceful sleep between the bright, warm days — each new day a little
warmer than the one before, each day with more flowers on the
Campagna, which did not seem greener than yesterday, yet was
much more green and mellow than the week before.
Her love for him had come in the same way. Every night
she looked forward to the next sunny day with him on the
Campagna, but gradually it was more himself and his young
love that she longed for. She had let him kiss her because it
gave her pleasure, and from day to day their kisses had grown
more frequent, till at last words faded away and kisses took
their place.
He had become more manly and mature from day to day;
the uncertainty and the sudden despondency of the earlier days
had quite left him. She herself was brighter, friendlier, more
sure of herself, not the coldness of youth, always ready to
fight, but more a calm confidence in herself. She was not
disappointed with life now because it would not shape itself
according to her dreams, but accepted each day, trusting that the
unknown was right and could be turned to advantage.
Why should not love come in the same way, slowly, like
the warmth that grows day by day, thawing and tempering, and
not as she had always believed it would come — as a storm that
would change her at once into a woman she did not know, and
whom her will could not control.
Helge accepted this slow, sound growth of her love quite
naturally and calmly. Every night when they parted her heart
was filled with gratitude to him, because he had not asked for
more than she could give that day.
Oh, if they could have stayed here till May — till summer —
the whole of summer, so that their love might ripen until they
belonged to one another completely. They would go together to
the mountains in the summer; the marriage could take place
here later, or at home in the autumn, for they would marry, of
course, in the ordinary way, since they were fond of each other.
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