evidently the prey of some secret trouble. He could not imagine what was weighing upon him, feeling satisfied that both he and his daughter did all in their power to make his stay with them as pleasant and home-like as possible. In particular he felt unpleasantly affected by the curate's demeanour towards Ragnhild. He could not be blind to the fact that there was an understanding between the two, and he thought he had grounds for believing that Mr Hansted was not indifferent to his daughter. But so far the curate had not taken any decisive step. The Provst did not know if fickleness was the cause, or excessive shyness, but in either case it seemed to him that he had a right to be aggrieved.
If, notwithstanding this, he had hitherto kept his impatience in check, it was entirely out of regard for Ragnhild, whose solitariness and unsecured future often caused him much uneasiness. On this occasion he again choked back his exasperation—only by great self-restraint. But no sooner had they risen from the luncheon table, and the curate had gone up to his room, than he eased his mind.
"I can't understand that man!" he broke out, beginning to pace hurriedly up and down the room. "I can't imagine what he has on his mind. He sits here with us every day, silent and unsympathetic, as if he were overwhelmed by some great misfortune! Do you know what can be the reason, Ragnhild?"
