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between him and her humiliation she would have nothing to do
with it. She would hate it — she hated it already at the
memory of the last days before her departure. The morbid desire
to cry and sob to her heart’s content was gone; she felt dry and
hard as if she could never cry again.
A week later Gert Gram arrived. She was so worn out and
apathetic that she could pretend to be almost in good spirits,
and if he had proposed that she should move into the hotel
where he was staying, she would have done so. She made him
take her to the theatre, to supper at restaurants, and one day,
when the weather was fine, for an excursion to Fredensborg,
because she saw that it pleased him if she seemed well and
happy. She gave up thinking — it was no sacrifice, for as a
matter of fact her brain was tired out.
Jenny had taken rooms with a teacher’s widow in a country
village. Gram accompanied her there and went back the same
evening to Copenhagen. At last she was alone.
She had engaged the rooms without seeing them beforehand.
When she had been studying in Copenhagen some years ago she
had gone with her fellow-students into the country one day,
lunching at an inn and bathing among the rocks, and she
remembered it was pretty out there, so when a certain Mrs.
Rasmussen, in answer to her advertisement, had offered to
house the young lady who was expecting a child, she decided
to go there.
The widow lived in a tiny yellow, sadly ugly brick cottage
outside the village by the main road, which ran dusty and
endless between open tilled fields, but Jenny was pleased on
the whole. She liked her bedroom with the blue wall-paper, the
etchings on the wall, and the white crochet-work d’oyleys all
over the place, on the bed, on the back of the American
rocking-chair, and on the chest, where Mrs. Rasmussen had placed a
bunch of roses the day she arrived.
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