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How good looking she was, he thought, when she turned
round. Slim and fair in her tight-fitting steel-grey dress, she
looked very ladylike — discreet, cold, and stylish. What he
had thought of her yesterday seemed quite impossible today.
“Did you not promise to go to Miss Schulin this afternoon
to see her paintings?”
“Yes, but I am not going.” She blushed. “Honestly I
don’t care to encourage an acquaintance with her, and I suppose
there is not much in her paintings either.”
“I should not think so. I cannot understand your putting
up with her advances last night. Personally, I would rather
do anything — eat a plateful of live worms.”
Jenny smiled, and said seriously:
“Poor thing, I daresay she is not happy at all.”
“Pooh! not happy. I met her in Paris in 1905. I don’t
think she is perverse by nature — only stupid and full of
vanity. It was all put on. If it were the fashion now to be
virtuous she would sit up darning children’s stockings, and
would have been the best of housewives. Possibly painting
roses with dewdrops on as a recreation. But once she got away
from her moorings she wanted to see life — free as an artist, she
thought she ought to get herself a lover for the sake of her
self-respect. But unfortunately she got hold of a duffer who was
old-fashioned enough to want her to marry him in the old
non-modern way when things had gone wrong, and expected her to
look after the child and the house.”
“It may be Paulsen’s fault that she ran away — you never
know.”
“Of course it was his fault. He was of the old school,
wanting happiness in his home, and he gave her probably too little
love and still less cudgelling.”
Jenny smiled sadly:
“I know, Gunnar, that you believe life’s difficulties are easily
solved.”
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