“Well, it is all over now!” I said; “there can be no talk of such a thing happening again; I am saved now. …”
But she was much dispirited, “The Lord preserve me!” was all she said, then kept silent. She repeated this at short intervals, and kept silent after each “the Lord preserve me.”
I began to jest, caught hold of her, tried to tickle her, lifted her up to my breast. She had buttoned up her frock again. This irritated me not a little—indeed, downright hurt me. Why should she button up her frock again? Was I more unworthy in her eyes now, than if I had myself been instrumental in causing the falling out of my hair? Would she have thought more of me if I had made myself out to be a roué? … No nonsense now; … it was just a matter of going at it; and if it was only just a matter of going at it, so, by the living … I laid her down simply laid her down on the sofa. She struggled quite feebly, by-the-way, and looked astonished.
“No; … what do you want?” she queried.
“What do I want?”
Ha! she asked me what I wanted. Go at it was what I wanted—go right at it. It was not only from a distance that I was able to go at it. That was not the sort and condition of man I was—I would have to prove I was not the sort of fellow to be trifled with, and not to be snubbed by a frown. No, no, forsooth; I had never yet gone forth from such an affair as this without having effected my purpose … and I went at it.
“No! … no, but … ?”
“Yes, rather; that was just my intention.”
“No; do listen!” she cried, and she added these hurtful words, “I can’t be sure that you are not insane!”
I checked myself involuntarily, and I said: “You don’t mean that!”
“Indeed, God knows I do! you look so strangely. And the forenoon you followed me—after all, you weren’t tipsy that time?”
“No; but I wasn’t hungry then, either; I had just eaten. …”
“Yes; but that made it so much the worse.”
“Would you rather I had been tipsy?”
“Yes … ugh … I am afraid of you! Lord, can’t you let me be now!”
I considered a moment. No, I couldn’t let her be. No damned nonsense late in the evening on a sofa. “Off with that petticoat!” Ha, what odd excuses one could hit upon in such a moment, as if I didn’t know it was just half-coyness, mock modesty all the time. I would indeed be green! “There, be quiet! No bosh! Live king and country!”
She fought and struggled against me with unusual strength—far too strongly to only do so from coyness. I happened, as if inadvertently, to knock over the light, so that it went out. She made a despairing struggle—gave vent at last to a little whimper.
“No, not that—oh, not that! If you like, you may rather kiss me on my breast, oh, dear, kind …”
I stopped instantly. Her words sounded so terrified, so helpless, I was struck to the heart. She meant to offer me a compensation by giving me leave to kiss her breast! How charming, how charmingly naive. I could have fallen down and knelt before her.
“But, dear pretty one,” I said, completely bewildered, “I don’t understand … I really can’t conceive what sort of a game this is …”
She rose, lit the candle again with trembling hands. I leant back on the sofa and did nothing. What would happen now? I was in reality very ill at ease.
She cast a look over at the clock on the wall, and started.
“Ugh, the girl will soon come now!” she said; this was the first thing she said. I took the hint, and rose. She took up her jacket as if to put it on, bethought herself, and let it lie, and went over to the fireplace. So that it should not appear as if she had shown me the door, I said:
“Was your father in the army?” and at the same time I prepared to leave.
“Yes; he was an officer. How did you know?”
“I didn’t know; it just came into my head.”
“That was odd.”
“Ah, yes; there were some places I came to where I got a kind of presentiment. Ha, ha!—a part of my insanity, eh?”
She looked quickly up, but didn’t answer. I felt I worried her with my presence, and determined to make short work of it. I went towards the door. Would she not kiss me any more now? not even give me her hand? I stood and waited.
“Are you going now, then?” she said, and yet she remained quietly standing over near the fireplace.
I did not reply. I stood humbly in confusion, and looked at her without saying anything. Why hadn’t she left me in peace, when nothing was to come of it? What was the matter with her now? It didn’t seem to put her out that I stood prepared to leave. She was all at once completely lost to me, and I searched for something to say to her in farewell—a weighty, cutting word that would strike her, and perhaps impress her a little. And in the face of my first resolve, hurt as I was, instead of being proud and cold, disturbed and offended, I began right off to talk of trifles. The telling word would not come; I conducted myself in an exceedingly aimless fashion. Why couldn’t she just as well tell me plainly and straightly to go my way? I queried. Yes,
