of it. You see, I am her son. If I am not convinced that I am everything in the world to you, I cannot help being jealous—anxiously fearing that some day there might come another whom you could love more, who could understand you better. I am jealous by nature."
"You must not be jealous, or everything will go to pieces. I cannot bear to be distrusted. I would rather you deceived me than doubted me—I could better forgive you that."
"I could not"—with a bitter smile.
Jenny stroked the hair from his forehead and dried his eyes.
"We love one another, don't we, Helge? When we get away from all this and we both wish everything to be well and right, don't you think we can make one another happy?"
"I have seen too much. I dare not trust my good intentions or yours. Others have built their hopes on this and failed—I have seen what a hell two people can make life for each other. You will have to give me an answer to what I asked you. Do you love me? Do you wish to be mine—as you did in Rome? Do you wish it more than anything else in the world?"
"I love you very dearly, Helge," she said, crying piteously.
"Thank you," he said, kissing her hand. "I know you cannot help it, poor darling, that you don't love me."
"Helge," she said imploringly.
"You cannot say that you wish me to stay because you would not be able to live without me. Dare you take the responsibility for everything that may happen if you say you love me—only so as not to send me away in sadness?"
Jenny sat looking down.
Helge put on his overcoat.
"Good-bye, Jenny." He clasped her hand.
"Are you going away from me, Helge?"
"Yes. I am going."
"And you will not come back?"
"Not unless you can say what I asked you to say."
