She was a tall, stately woman, not yet thirty years of age. She was dressed in a loose-fitting grey dress, and her wealth of fair hair was set like a crown upon her head. Her long eyelashes gave a depth and brightness to her eyes. Her face was in the shadow of the lamp-shade, as she stood leaning upon the back of a chair, motionless, impatient and anxious.
"I know all!" he said abruptly, stooping to put down his bag; and even before he raised himself again, he heard her drop into a chair and burst into tears.
"I thought I should have gone out of my mind!" she sobbed.
He stood looking at her. She did not come up to him and throw her arms about his neck. Did she really suspect him? His indignation and pain at this again felt like a relief; for in this he was innocent at any rate; he could defend himself here with a good conscience.
He went up to her, and laid his hand on her shoulder.
There was a pause, during which he grew more and more anxious. At last she raised her hand and placed it in his. He clasped it; it was so thin and helpless, and so warm, and it seemed to give him all her confidence. It is true that during the last few days she had often reproached him, and had mercilessly demanded from him the return of her money; but this was beyond ordinary limits, and made everything else seem small, and now she clung to him confidingly.
In a little while she pointed to the supper-table and whispered: "Won't you have supper?" And she rose slowly and went to the stove for the tea-pot. "Would you like me to light the big lamp?" she asked gently.
"No, dear," he said, seating himself at the table, and beginning to eat, more for the purpose of removing the smell of whisky than of satisfying any hunger. He noticed that there was a half-bottle of beer upon the table, and this positively agitated him. They could not afford to drink beer now, but perhaps she had found this last bottle in some box, and in spite of her own troubles, had not forgotten to put it on the table when she expected him.
"Have you had supper?" he asked, as she did not come to table.
"No, thank you," she said; "I don't think I can eat anything."
"Oh yes, Karen," he said; "Sören will want his supper, you know."
This little joke seemed so strange in their present gloomy mood. For Sören was their secret pet-name for the little one that was still unborn. And now, when the father said this, it was as though a little bridge of gold had been thrown between them, and she could not help looking brightly up at him and smiling.