Inger made no secret of where she had
got her knowledge and all her art from; it was from Trondhjem. It
almost appeared as if she had not been in prison at all, in the
ordinary way, but at school, in an institute, where one could learn to
sew and weave and write, and do dressing and dyeing--all that she had
learned in Trondhjem. She spoke of the place as of a home; there were
so many people she knew there, superintendents and forewomen and
attendants, it had been dull and empty to come back here again, and
hard to find herself altogether cut off from the life and society
she had been accustomed to. She even made some show of having a
cold--couldn't stand the keen air there; for years after her return
she had been too poorly to work out of doors in all seasons. It was
for the outside work she really ought to have a servant.
"Ay, Heaven save us," said Oline, "and why shouldn't you have a
servant indeed, when you've means and learning and a great fine house
and all!"
It was pleasant to meet with sympathy, and Inger did not deny it.
Pages:
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249