and the rest of the folks would take it.

When they came to Lövberg's place, Ingmar said that his horse was
now thoroughly rested, and if she had no objection they might as
well cover the first few stations that day. Then she thought: "Now
is the time to tell him that you won't go. Thank him first, then
tell him that you don't want to go with him." She prayed God that
she might be shown if he had come for her only out of pity. In the
meantime Ingmar had drawn the cart out of the shed. The cart had
been newly painted, the dasher shone, and the cushions had fresh
covering. To the buckboard was attached a little half-withered
bouquet of wild flowers. The sight of the flowers made her stop
and think. Ingmar, meanwhile, had gone back to the stable and
harnessed the horse, and was now leading him out. Then she
discovered another bouquet of the same sort between the harness,
and began to feel that after all he must like her. So it seemed
best not to say anything. Otherwise he might think she was
ungrateful and that she did not understand how big a thing he was
offering her.

For a time they drove along without exchanging a word. Then, in
order to break the silence, she began to question him about various
home matters. With every question he was reminded of some one or
other whose judgment he feared. How so and so will wonder and how
so and so will laugh at me, he thought.

He answered only in monosyllables. Time and again she felt like
begging him to turn back. "He doesn't want me," she thought. "He
doesn't care for me; he is doing this only out of charity."