“You know what your doctor says—only nerves—every bit of it. If you only would be sensible!”
“I know. That is what they all say, but I am afraid. You say that I have no instincts—not in the way you mean, but I have them all right in another way. I have been a devil all this week—I know it perfectly well—but I have been waiting all the time for something awful I knew was going to happen. You see, I was right.”
Jenny kissed her again.
“I was down at S. Agostino tonight. You know that image of the Madonna that works miracles; I knelt before it and prayed to the Virgin. I think I should be happier if I turned Catholic. A woman like the Virgin Mary would understand. I ought really never to marry. I ought to go into a convent—Siena, for instance. I might paint copies in the gallery and earn some money for the convent. When I copied that angel for Melozzo da Forli in Florence there was a nun painting every day. It wasn’t so bad.” She laughed. “I mean, it was awful. I hated it. But they all said my copies were so good—and so they were. I believe I should be happy in that way. Oh, Jenny, if I only felt well and were at peace in my mind, but I am so bewildered and frightened. If I were well, I could work, work—always. And I’d be so good and nice—you don’t know how good I could be. I know I am not always good. I give in to every mood when I feel as I do at present. I am going to stop it, if only you will love me, all of you, but you especially. Let us ask that Gram here. Next time I see him I’ll be so nice and sweet to him, you see. We’ll ask him here and take him out, and I will do anything to amuse him. Do you hear, Jenny? Are you pleased with me now?”
“Yes, Cesca dear.”
“Gunnar does not think I can be serious,” she said pensively.
“Oh yes, he does; he only thinks you are very childish. You know what he thinks of your work. Don’t you remember what he said in Paris about your energy and your talent? Great and original, he said. He did not think lightly of you that time.”
“Gunnar is a nice boy, but he was angry with me because of Douglas.”
“Any man would have been angry with you. I was, too.”
Francesca sighed and sat quiet an instant. “How did you get rid of Gram? I thought you would never be able to shake that fellow off. I thought that he would come home with you and sleep here on the sofa.”
Jenny laughed. “Oh no! He went with me to the Aventine and had breakfast; then he went home. I rather like him, you know.”
“Dio mio! Jenny, you are abnormally good. Have you not got enough to mother already, with us? Or have you fallen in love with him?”
Jenny laughed again. “I don’t think there is much chance for me. I suppose he will fall in love with you, like the rest, if you are not careful.”
“They all do, it seems—Heaven only knows why. But they soon get cured, and then they’re angry with me afterwards.” She sighed.
They heard steps on the stairs.
“That is Gunnar. I am going into my room a little. I must bathe my eyes.”
She passed Heggen in the door with a short greeting as she hurried away. He shut the door and came into the room.
“You are all right, I see—but so you always are. You are an extraordinary girl, Jenny. I suppose you have been working all the morning—and she?” He pointed towards Cesca’s room.
“In a bad state, poor little thing.”
“I saw it in the papers when I looked in at the club. Have you finished the study? Show me. It is very good.” Heggen held the picture to the light and looked at it for some time. “This part stands out beautifully. It is powerful work. Is she lying on her bed crying, do you think?”
“I don’t know. She has been crying in here. She had a letter from her sister.”
“If ever I meet that cad,” said Heggen, “I shall find some pretext to give him a sound thrashing.”
V
One afternoon Helge Gram sat in the club reading Norwegian newspapers. He was alone in the reading-room when Miss Jahrman entered. He stood up and bowed, but she came up to him with a smile and shook hands: “How are you getting on? Jenny and I have been wondering why we never see you; we were determined to come here on Saturday to see if we could find you and ask you to go out with us somewhere. Have you got rooms yet?”
“No, I am sorry to say. I am still at the hotel. All the rooms I have seen are so expensive.”
“But it is not cheaper at the hotel, is it? I suppose you have to pay three lire a day at least? I thought so. It is not cheap in Rome, you know. You must have rooms to the south in winter. You don’t speak Italian, of course, but why did you not ask us to help you? Jenny or I would willingly have gone with you to look for rooms.”
“Thank you very much. I would not dream of troubling you about that.”
“It is no trouble whatever. How are you getting on? Have you met any people?”
“No. I came here on Saturday, but I did not speak to anybody. I read the papers. The day before yesterday I saw Heggen in a café on the Corso and exchanged a few words with him. I have also met two German doctors I knew in Florence, and I went with them to Via Appi one day.”
“Ugh! German doctors are not nice,
