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anything, but I see he thinks I flirt with them. It is true,
perhaps, for I get into good spirits when I can have a meal
out and need not cook and wash up once for a change, and not
be afraid of spoiling the food when Lennart has to eat it all the
same because we cannot afford to throw it away. Sometimes I
was glad, too, of not having to be alone with Lennart, though
I am fond of him and he is of me—I know he is. If I ask
him about it he says, ‘You know it quite well,’ and smiles in a
queer way, but he does not trust me because I cannot love with
my senses and yet like to flirt. Once he said I had not a notion
of what love really meant and that it was his fault for not
being able to awaken it in me, but there would probably be
another man some day who could. O God, how I cried!
“You know we are ever so poor. Well, in the spring Gunnar
managed to get my still-life picture sold—the one I had at the
exhibition three years ago. We got three hundred kroner for
it and we lived on it for several months, but Lennart did not
like spending the money I had earned. I cannot see what
difference it makes when we are fond of each other, but he
talked about having brought me into misery and so on. We
have got debts too, of course, so I wanted to write to father
asking him for a few hundreds, but he would not let me. I
thought it so ridiculous. Borghild and Helga have lived at
home or abroad all these years and had everything given to
them, whereas I have saved and pinched with the little I had
from mother since I came of age, because I did not want to take
anything from papa after what he said to me when I broke
my engagement with Kaasen and there was all the talk about
Hans and me. Father has since admitted that I was right.
It was mean of Kaasen and of them at home to try and force
me to marry him because he had beguiled me into an engagement
when I was only seventeen, and did not know that
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