Shallow Soil Part 20

"Aagot and I have read it with beating hearts!" he said. "I really believe Aagot wept a little now and then--Yes; you did; no use denying it, Aagot.

You need not feel ashamed of that--What I wanted to say--come along to the telegraph office, Irgens; then we'll drop in at Sara's afterward, if you like. I have a little surprise for you."

Aagot said nothing.

"You can walk up and down a little while I telegraph," said Ole. "But don't get impatient if it takes some time. I have got to catch a s.h.i.+p before it leaves Arendal!"

And Ole ran up the stairs and disappeared; Irgens looked after him.

"Listen--I want to thank you for your book!" said Aagot quickly in a low voice. "You will never know how I have enjoyed it."

"Really? Truly? It is good to hear you say that," he replied, full of grat.i.tude. That she should have waited until Ole had left in order to thank him was a charming and delicate tribute; she had done it now much more genuinely and warmly; her words meant so much more now. She told him what had especially stirred her; it was that wonderful "Song to Life"; never had she read anything so beautiful. Then, as if she feared she had spoken too warmly and laid herself open to misunderstanding, she added in an ordinary tone of voice that Ole had been just as enchanted as she; he had read most of it aloud to her.

Irgens made a wry face. Did she care to have things read to her? Really?

It was intentionally that Aagot had mixed Ole's name into the conversation. This afternoon he had once more asked her about the wedding, and she had left everything to him; there was no reason for delay. It had been decided to have the wedding after Ole had returned from London this coming fall. Ole was as good as the day was long; he never grew impatient with her and was almost absurdly fond of her. He had said that perhaps she had better spend a little time in the house occasionally. She had flushed; she could not help it; it was disgraceful not to have stirred a finger to make herself a little useful instead of hanging around the office early and late. Suppose she began to think a little about their house, said Ole; she might make up her mind about things they wanted, furniture and such.

Of course, she should have all the help she needed, but--Yes, it was only too true; she had not given her new home a thought; she had simply hung about the office with him. She had begun to cry, and had told him how silly and useless she really was; she was a goose, a stupid little goose.

But Ole had taken her in his arms and had sat down with her on the sofa and told her that she was only a child, a charming, wonderful child, but she was getting older and more sensible right along; time and life were before them. How he loved her! His eyes, too, were wet; he looked like a child himself. Above all, there was no hurry; she had free hands to decide and arrange, just as she pleased. Yes; they were fully agreed....

"I must confess I feared you had lost interest in us poets," said Irgens.

"I was afraid we had forfeited your good-will in some way."

She woke up and looked at him.

"Why do you say that?"

"I had come to that conclusion. You remember that evening at Tivoli when your old tutor was quite severe on us poor scribblers? You looked as if you heartily approved of everything he said."

"No, you are mistaken."

Pause.

"I am very glad that I have met you, anyway," said Irgens as indifferently as he could. "Only to see you is enough to put me in good spirits. It must be wonderful to be able to bring happiness to others simply by appearing."

She had not the heart to show displeasure over that; perhaps he really meant it, strange though it sounded, and she answered smilingly:

"It would be hard on you if you depended on me to bring you good spirits."

G.o.d knows she had not meant to pain him; she had said it in all innocence, without any veiled thought or ulterior motive; but when Irgens's head drooped and he said quietly, "Yes, I understand!" it occurred to her that several interpretations might be placed upon this sentence, and she added hurriedly: "For you do not see me very often. By the way, I am going to the country this summer; I shall probably be away until fall."

He stopped.

"Are you going to the country?"

"Yes. I am going with Mrs. Tidemand. I shall be with her until fall."

Irgens was silent and thoughtful a few moments.

"Has it been decided that Tidemands are going to the country, then?" he asked. "I understood it was not settled yet."

Aagot nodded and said that it had been decided.

"That pleasure has been denied me," he said with a wistful smile. "No country joys for me."

"Why not?"

She regretted her question immediately; of course, he could not afford it.

She was always so indelicate and awkward! She added a few meaningless words to save him the humiliation of a reply.

"When I want to go to the country I hire a boat and row over to the island," he said with his sad smile. "Anyway, it is better than nothing."

The island? She grew 'attentive. "Of course, the island! I haven't been there yet. Is it pretty?"

"Beautiful! There are some wonderful places. I know them all. If I only dared I would ask you to let me row you over some time?"

This was not said in simple courtesy; it was a request. She understood it perfectly. But she said, all the same, that she was not sure she had time; it would be interesting, but--

Pause.

"I wrote many of my poems there," continued Irgens. "I should like to show you the place."

Aagot was silent.

"Come, please!" he exclaimed suddenly, and wanted to take her hand.

Just then Ole Henriksen appeared on the stairs and came toward them.

Irgens remained in his pleading att.i.tude; he said with outstretched hand:

"Do, please!"

She glanced at him hurriedly.

"Yes," she whispered.

Ole joined them; he had not been able to get hold of Arendal at once; he could not get a reply until to-morrow. Off to Sara now! He really had a surprise for them--he carried in his pocket Ojen's latest work. They just ought to hear it!

II

Quite a number of the clique were ensconced at Sara's, drinking and gossiping. Tidemand was there, happy and contented with everything. He had been all smiles since his success with that enormous enterprise in rye.

The grain had begun to arrive and was being stored in his warehouses, thousands upon thousands of sacks. They grew into mountains; there was no room for anything else; even Ole Henriksen had been obliged to let him have s.p.a.ce for storing. Tidemand walked around and viewed this wealth with pride; even he had accomplished something above the ordinary. Never for an instant did he regret that he had given such unlimited orders.

Journalist Gregersen offered Ole one finger and said: "You have something on your conscience, Ole?"

"Oh, nothing sensational, exactly," said Ole. "I had a letter from Ojen; he sends me his latest poem. Do you want to hear it?"

"Does he send you his--Has he sent you a ma.n.u.script?" exclaimed Milde in astonishment. "I have never heard anything like it!"