Jenny | Page 5

said the tall one.
The little one whispered peevishly something in Italian, but the other answered her decisively. Helge felt still more confused at these asides, which he did not understand.
"Thank you, but please do not trouble. I am sure to find my way home somehow or other."
"It is no trouble," said the tall one, starting to walk; "it is on our way."
"It is very kind of you; I suppose it is rather difficult to find one's way about in Rome, is it not?" he said, by way of conversation - "especially when it is dark."
"Oh no, you will soon get into it."
"I only arrived here to-day. I came from Florence this morning by train." The smaller one said something in an undertone in Italian. The tall one asked: "Was it very cold in Florence?"
"Yes, bitterly cold. It is milder here, is it not? I wrote my mother anyway yesterday to send my winter coat."
"Well, it is cold enough here too sometimes. Did you like Florence? How long were you there?"
"A fortnight. I think I shall like Rome better than Florence."
The other young girl smiled - she had been muttering to herself in Italian all the time - but the tall one went on in her pleasant, quiet voice:
"I don't believe there is any town one could love as much as Rome."
"Is your friend Italian?" asked Helge.
"No; Miss Jahrman is Norwegian. We speak Italian because I want to learn, and she is very good at it. My name is Winge," she added. "That is the Cancellaria." She pointed towards a big, dark palace.
"Is the courtyard as fine as it is reported to be?"
"Yes; it is very fine. I will show you which car." While they stood waiting two men came across the street.
"Hullo, you here!" exclaimed one of them.
"Good evening," said the other. "What luck! We can go together. Have you been to look at the corals?"
"It was closed," said Miss Jahrman sulkily.
"We have met a fellow-countryman, and promised to show him the right tram," Miss Winge explained, introducing: "Mr. Gram - Mr. Heggen, artist, and Mr. Ahlin, sculptor."
"I don't know if you remember me, Mr. Heggen - my name is Gram; we met three years ago on the Mysusaeter."
"Oh yes - certainly. And so you are in Rome?"
Ahlin and Miss Jahrman had stood talking to one another in whispers. The girl came up to her friend and said: "I am going home, Jenny. I am not in the mood for Frascati tonight."
"But, my dear, you suggested it yourself."
"Well, not Frascati anyway - ugh! sit there and mope with thirty old Danish ladies of every possible age and sex."
"We can go somewhere else. But there is your tram coming, Mr. Gram."
"A thousand thanks for your help. Shall I see you again - at the Scandinavian club, perhaps?"
The tram stopped in front of them. Miss Winge said: "I don't know - perhaps you would like to come with us now; we were going to have a glass of wine somewhere, and hear some music."
"Thank you." Helge hesitated, looking round at the others a little embarrassed. "I should be very pleased, but" - and, turning with confidence to Miss Winge of the fair face and the kind voice, he said, with an awkward smile, "you all know one another - perhaps you would rather not have a stranger with you?"
"Indeed no," she said, smiling - "it would be very nice - and there - your tram's gone now. You know Heggen already, and now you know us. We'll see you get home all right, so if you are not tired, let us go."
"Tired, not a bit. I should love to come," said Helge eagerly.
The other three began to propose different cafés. Helge knew none of the names; his father had not mentioned them. Miss Jahrman rejected them all.
"Very well, then, let us go down to St. Agostino; you know the one, Gunnar, where they give you that first-rate claret," and Jenny began to walk on, accompanied by Heggen.
"There is no music," retorted Miss Jahrman.
"Oh yes, the man with a squint and the other fellow are there almost every night. Don't let us waste time."
Helge followed with Miss Jahrman and the Swedish sculptor.
"Have you been long in Rome, Mr. Gram?"
"No, I came this morning from Florence."
Miss Jahrman laughed. Helge felt rather snubbed. He ought perhaps to have said he was tired, and gone home. On their way down through dark, narrow streets Miss Jahrman talked all the time to the sculptor, and scarcely answered when he tried to speak to her. But before he had made up his mind he saw the other couple vanish through a narrow door down the street.

II
"WHAT'S wrong with Cesca again tonight? We are getting too much of her tempers lately. Take off your coat, Jenny, or you'll be