161 (Jenny)

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“What is the matter?” he asked, when they walked down
the stairs. “Has there been a scene again?”

“No, not at all,” she replied, in a short, irritated voice. “I
suppose your mother did not like my coming home with your
father.”

“It seems to me, too, that you need not have done it,” said
Helge humbly.

“I am going home by tram.” Overwrought, and unable to
control herself, she pulled her arm out of his. “I cannot stand
any more tonight, and I will not have these scenes with you
every time I have been to your home. Good-night.”

“Jenny! Wait! Jenny!...” He hurried after her, but
she was already at the stop when the tram came, and got in,
leaving him without a word.

VII

Jenny walked listlessly about in her studio next morning
and could not settle down to anything. The pouring
rain was beating against the big window. She stopped
to look at the wet tiles of the roofs, the black chimneys, and
the telephone wires, along which the small raindrops were
rolling down like pearls until they gathered into one large one
and fell off, to be replaced immediately by others.

She might go to her mother and the children in the country
for a few days. She must go away from all this. Or she
might go to an hotel in some other town and write for Helge
to come and talk things over with her quietly. If they could
only be together again — they two alone! She tried to think
of their spring in Rome, of the silvery haze over the mountains,
and of her own happiness in it all. But she could not
reconstruct the picture of Helge from that time — as he had appeared
to her enamoured eyes.

Those days seemed already so far away; they were an isolated

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