there? Is it too far? We can come back by tram."
"Is it not too far for you? You're not well."
"It does me good to walk. 'You must walk more,' says Gunnar always—Mr. Heggen, you know."
She chatted all the time, looking at him now and again to see if he was amused. They took the new road along by the Tiber; the yellow-grey river rolled between the green slopes. Small, pearl-tinted clouds sailed over the dark shrubbery of Monte Mario and the blocks of villas between the evergreen trees.
Francesca nodded to a policeman and said laughingly to Gram:
"Do you know, that man has proposed to me. I used to walk here very often alone, and sometimes I spoke to him, and one day he proposed. The son of our tobacconist has also proposed to me. Jenny says it was my own fault, and I suppose it was."
"Miss Winge seems to scold you very often. She is a strict mamma, I can see."
"No, she isn't. She only scolds me when I need scolding: I wish somebody had done it long before." She sighed. "But nobody ever did."
Helge Gram felt quite free and easy in her company. There was something very soft about her—her lissom gait, her voice, and her face under the big mushroom hat. He did not quite like Jenny Winge when he thought of her now; she had such determined grey eyes and such an enormous appetite. Cesca had just told him that she herself could hardly eat anything at present.
"Miss Winge is a very determined young lady, I should think," he said.
"No doubt about that! She has a very strong character; she has always been wanting to paint, but she had to go on
