Joergen accompanied her to the house on the market-place; it was quite
near. He did not say a word on the way, and took leave immediately.
Afterwards he sent to let her know that he would be obliged to stay in
town till the evening; then he would cycle out. Mary herself left at the
previously appointed hour.

On her way home in the steamer she revolved the idea: Joergen Thiis and
herself a pair. No! This she had never contemplated. He was a handsome,
well-bred man, a courteous, pleasant companion, a really gifted
musician. His ability, his tact, were unanimously acknowledged. Even
that which at one time had repelled her so strongly, the sensuality,
which would suddenly leap into his eyes and produce that insufferable
gloating expression--perhaps it was of this underlying quality that all
the rest were cultivated developments? Might it not account for his
appreciation of the perfect in art, in discipline, in language? Still
there remained something unexplained. But it was a matter of
indifference to her what it was. She cast all these reflections aside;
it was no concern of hers.

As she came on board she had noticed a peasant-woman who had once been
their servant; now she went and sat down beside her. The woman was
gratified.

"And how is your father, Miss? I am old now, and I have known many
people in my day, but never a kinder man than Mr. Krog. There's no one
like him."

The affectionate warmth of these words touched Mary. The woman mentioned
one instance after the other of her father's considerateness and
generosity; she was still talking of it when they arrived. At first Mary
felt as if nothing so pleasant as this had happened to her for a long
time. Then she felt afraid. She had actually forgotten how dearly she
herself loved her father, and had left off giving expression to her
affection. Why? Why did she give her time and thoughts to so much else
and not to him, the best and dearest of all?

She hurried up to the house. Although her father was very much of an
invalid now, she had latterly spent hardly any of her time with him.

As she approached she saw Joergen's bicycle propped against the steps;
she heard him playing. But she hurried past the drawing-room, and went
straight to her father, who was sitting in the office at his desk,
writing. She put her arms round him and kissed him, looked into his kind
eyes and kissed him again. His bewilderment was so comic that she could
not help laughing.

"Yes,