Mary was in the farthest away of the suite of sitting-rooms, a red boudoir, unchanged since her mother"s day. She was sitting on a sofa, beneath a large portrait of her mother. When she stood up in her black dress, pale and heavy-eyed under her crown of red hair, it struck Margrete Roy that she was the very image of sorrow, the most beautiful one that could be imagined. A solemn tranquillity surrounded her. She spoke as low as the storm outside permitted.
"I feel that you respect another"s grief. I am also certain that you betray no secrets."
"I do not."
A little time pa.s.sed before Mary said: "Who is Jorgen Thiis?"
"Who is he----?"
"I have several reasons for believing that you can tell me."
"You must first allow me to put a question. Are you not engaged to Jorgen Thiis?"
"No."
"People say that you are."
Mary remained silent.
"You have perhaps been engaged to him?"
"Yes."
"But," said Margrete quickly and joyously, "you have broken off the engagement?"
Mary nodded.
"Many will rejoice to hear it; for Jorgen Thiis is not worthy of you."
Mary showed no signs of surprise.
"You know something?" she asked.
"Doctors, Miss Krog, know more than they may tell."
"Yet I do believe that he loved me," said Mary, to excuse herself.
"We all saw that," replied Margrete. "He undoubtedly loved you better than he had ever loved before. Nor was it surprising," she added. "But when I lived in Christiania I knew a sweet young girl who at that time was the one love of his life! She allowed herself to be deeply moved by this, and as they could not marry, she gave herself to him."
"What did she do?" asked Mary, startled. Had she understood aright? The storm was howling so loudly outside that it was difficult to hear.
Margrete repeated distinctly and impressively: "She was a warm-hearted girl, who believed that she was doing right, as she was his one and only love."
"They could not marry?"
"It was not possible. So she gave herself to him without marriage."
Mary started up, but did not move forward. She was going to say something, but stopped.
"Do not be so startled, Miss Krog. It is nothing very uncommon."
This information lowered Mary considerably in her own estimation. She slowly seated herself again.
"You cannot have had any experience of this sort of thing, Miss Krog?"
Mary shook her head.
"In which case it surprises me that you were able to escape from Jorgen Thiis in time; _he_ has had plenty."
Mary made no reply.
"We expected, especially after your father and Mrs. Dawes both became invalids, that you would have been married before autumn."
"We intended to be, but it proved impossible."
Margrete could not fathom what lay beneath this enigmatic answer; but she said, with a searching glance: "This, doubtless, added very considerably to his ardour?"
Mary trembled inwardly, but controlled herself.
"You seem to know him?" she said.
Margrete reflected for a moment, then answered: "Yes. I am older than you, older than Jorgen, too. But in Christiania I also, to my shame be it spoken, was infatuated with him. This he discovered--and tried to take advantage of." She laughed.
Mary turned pale, rose, and walked to the window. The wind was lashing the rain against the panes with ever-increasing force. She remained for a few moments gazing out into the storm, then came and stood in front of Margrete, agitated, restless.
"Will you promise me never to tell any one what we have spoken about to-day--under any circ.u.mstances whatever?"
Margrete looked at her in surprise. "You wish me to tell no one that you have asked me about Jorgen Thiis?"
"It is my express desire that no one should know it."
"Do you mean any one in particular?"
Mary looked at her. "Any one in particular?" She did not understand.
Margrete rose. "A man came to this town on purpose to tell you that Jorgen Thiis was not worthy of you. He came too late; but I think he deserves to know that you have discovered for yourself what Jorgen Thiis is."
Mary answered, eagerly: "Tell _him_. By all means tell _him_!... So that was why he came," she added slowly. "I am glad that you have told me. Because my other reason for wishing to see you was--" she hesitated a little, "the other thing I wanted to ask you was--to give my kind remembrances to your brother."
"That I shall do, gladly. Thank you for the message. You know what you are to my brother."
Mary looked away. She struggled with herself a moment, then said: "I am one of the unhappy people who cannot understand their own lives--cannot understand what has happened. I can find no clue to it. But something tells me that your brother has had his share in it."
She evidently wished to say more, but could not. Instead, she returned to the window and remained standing there again. The storm without called into the room with its thousand-voiced wrath. It was calling her.
"What a terrible storm!" said Margrete, raising her voice.
"I am rejoicing at the thought of going out into it," said Mary, turning round with sparkling eyes.