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 table, took a cigarette, and held it to the flame: "Will you smoke?"

"Thanks." He took the cigarette from her lips.

"The thing is, you see," he said suddenly, "that there was once some story about father and another woman. I was twelve then, and I don't know exactly how much truth there was in it. But mother!… it was a dreadful time. It was only because of us that they remained together—father told me so himself. God knows, I don't thank him for it! Mother is honest at least, and admits that she means to hold on to him by hook or by crook and not let go."

He sat down on the sofa. Jenny went and sat beside him, kissing his eyes. He sank on his knees and laid his head in her lap.

"Do you remember the last evening in Rome, when I said good-night? Do you still love me as you did then?"

She did not answer.

"Jenny?"

"We have not been happy together today—it's the first time."

He lifted his head: "Are you vexed with me?" he said in a low voice.

"No, not vexed."

"What, then?"

"Nothing—only.…"

"Only what?"

"Tonight"—she hesitated—"when we walked here, you said we would go somewhere alone—some other day. It was not as it was in Rome; now it is you who decide what I must do and not do."

"Oh no, Jenny."

"Yes—but I don't mind; I like it so. I only think that, if such is the case, you ought to help me out of all this trouble."