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Gunnar Heggen was the only one who would have liked the
symposium to come to an end; he was the only sober one, and
in a bad temper.
Dr. Broager was constantly applying his black moustache to
Jenny’s hand; when she pulled it away he tried to kiss her
bare arm. He had succeeded in placing his arm behind her
and they were squeezed so tight in the corner that it was
useless to try and get away from him. Her resistance was,
to tell the truth, somewhat lame, and she laughed without
offence at his boldness.
“Ugh!” said Loulou, shrugging her shoulders. “How can
you stand it? Don’t you think he is disgusting, Jenny?”
“Yes, I do, but don’t you see that he is exactly like a
blue-bottle? — it is useless trying to drive him away. Ugh! stop it,
doctor!”
“Ugh!” said Loulou again. “How can you stand that
man?”
“Never mind. I can wash myself with soap when I get
home.”
Loulou Schulin leaned against Jenny, stroking her arms.
“Now I will take care of these poor, beautiful hands. Look!”
She lifted one of them to be admired by the company round the
table. “Isn’t it lovely?” and, loosening the green motor veil
from her hat, she wrapped it round Jenny’s arms and hands.
“In a mosquito net, you see,” she said, thrusting out a small
tongue swiftly at Broager.
Jenny sat an instant with her arms and hands enveloped in
the green veil before undoing it and putting on her coat and
gloves.
Broager leaned back with eyes half closed, and Miss Schulin
raised her glass: “Your health, Mr. Heggen.”
He pretended not to hear, but when she repeated her words
he seized his glass: “Pardon — I did not see” — and, after
taking a sip, looked away again.
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