“You are ruining everything, Anne-Marie. Must you look like that when
Uncle wishes to dance with you? If you could know what he said to me
yesterday about you! You must do something too, Anne-Marie. Do you
think it is right to leave everything to me?”
“What do you wish me to do, Maurits?”
“Oh, now there is nothing; now the game is spoiled. Think all I had won
this evening! But it is lost now.”
“I will gladly ask Uncle’s pardon, if you like, Maurits.” And she
really meant it. She was honestly sorry to have hurt Uncle.
“That is of course the only right thing to do; but one can ask nothing
of any one as ridiculously shy as you are.”
She had not answered, but had gone straight to the smoking-room, which
was almost empty. Uncle had thrown himself down in an arm-chair.
“Why will you not dance with me?” she had asked.
Uncle Theodore’s eyes were closed. He opened them and looked long at
her. It was a look full of pain that she met. It made her understand
how a prisoner must feel when he thinks of his chains. It made her
sorry for Uncle. It seemed as if he had needed her much more than
Maurits, for Maurits needed no one. He was very well as he was. So she
laid her hand on Uncle Theodore’s arm quite gently and caressingly.
Instantly new life awoke in his eyes. He began to stroke her hair with
his big hand. “Little mother,” he had said.
Then “it” came over her while he stroked her hair. It came stealing, it
came creeping, it came rushing, as when elves pass through dark woods.