"I know my son so little—his real self is almost unknown to me, but as you are fond of him you must know him far better. I have always believed that he was a good boy, and clever in a way, and the fact that you love him proves to me that I have reason to be pleased—and proud of him. Now that I know you, I can understand that he loves you, and I hope he will make you happy."
"Thank you," said Jenny, giving him her hand again.
"I am fond of the boy—he's my only son—and I think he likes me too."
"I know he does. Helge is very fond of you and of his mother." She blushed as if she had been tactless.
"Yes, I believe so; but he must have seen long ago that his father and mother did not care for one another. Helge has not had a happy home, Jenny. I don't mind telling you this, for if you have not already understood it, you will soon see it for yourself. You are a sensible girl. Helge's experience of his own home will teach him, perhaps, to value your love and try to keep it."
Jenny poured out the tea: "Helge used to come and have tea with me in the afternoon in Rome—it was really during these visits we learnt to know each other, I think."
"And you became fond of each other?"
"No, not at once. Perhaps we were, though—even then—but we believed that we were great friends only. He came to tea afterwards too, of course." They both smiled.
"Tell me something about Helge from the time he was a boy—when he was quite small, I mean."
Gram smiled sadly and shook his head: "No; I cannot tell you anything about my son. He was always good and obedient, and did well at school. He was not particularly clever, but he worked steadily and diligently. He was very reserved as a boy—and later, too, for that matter—with me, anyhow. You, I am sure, have more to tell me."
