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When she thought of her journey home, she was almost afraid
that she would awake as from a dream, but she told herself such
thoughts were nonsense, since she loved him and he loved her.
She did not like the disturbing elements of engagements, visiting
relations, and so on, though they were trifles after all.
Heaven be praised for this blessed spring in Rome that had
brought them together — they two alone on the green Campagna
among the daisies.
“Don’t you think Jenny will be sorry some day that she ever
got engaged to that Gram?” asked Francesca one evening when
she was sitting in Heggen’s room.
He shook the ashes from his cigarette without answering. He
discovered all of a sudden that it had never struck him as
indiscreet to speak about Francesca’s affairs to Jenny. But to
speak about Jenny’s to Francesca was quite another matter.
“Can you understand what she wants with him?” she asked
again.
“Well, it’s hard to say. We don’t always understand what
you women want with this or that man. We imagine that we
choose for ourselves, but we are more like our brothers, the
dumb animals, than we care to think. Some say we are
disposed to love — because of our natural state — place and
opportunity do the rest.”
“Ugh!” said Francesca, shrugging her shoulders. “If that
is so, you, I should say, are always disposed.”
Gunnar laughed reluctantly: “Or I have never been
disposed enough; I have never thought of any woman as the only
one — and so on, and that is an essential condition in love —
because of our natural state.”
Francesca stared thoughtfully in front of her.
“I daresay you are right. But it happens sometimes that
one falls in love with somebody for some special reason — not
only because time and circumstances are favourable. I for one
love him — you know who I mean — because I don’t
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