Although the dinner-bell was ringing, Tora sat there, with Tinka on one side and Nora on the other, and Miss Hall in front of them. Tora had spoken to them several times, and assured them that she was well again now. They all three believed that she had worked too hard at her gymnastics--she believed so herself; but she said, "Oh, what an ugly, horrid man!"
The others looked at each other: "Do you mean Niels Furst?"
She did not answer at first: "So that was Niels Furst?"
A little time afterwards she shivered as if from cold, but she did not give any further explanation. She understood what had happened so far as that the gymnastics had been the cause of it. That, being weakened, he had had a singular influence upon her. She would not say a word about it.
Miss Hall now went away. The two others sat there still: Tora asked them to do so. It was so nice to hold their hands.
CHAPTER III
SEPARATED FROM THE OTHERS
By the next day Tora had heard that Niels Furst said she was "out and away the handsomest girl he had seen in Norway." She would not believe it at first, but she heard it on all sides during the next few days.
The next time she met Kaja Grondal she told her the same thing. Tora knew her through Milla, and always spoke to her. She had so far recovered her usual flippancy that she answered that, "If Lieutenant Furst had not such bad taste, it would have been embarrassing for the rest of the Norwegian girls."
The summer came in with great heat; every one who could, went into the country, to different places on the coast, or up to the houses on the mountains. As soon as ever the school closed they were off; only a few of the poorer ones remained behind, and Tora among them. Nora went to the Baths with her mother; Tinka's relations were well to do, and had a country house. Anna Rogne was in the town; with Rendalen's help she was preparing herself for the post of history teacher in place of Karen Lote, who was leaving the school. But Anna was not easy of access, more especially for Tora, on account of her friendship with Milla. Even when, for all that, Tora did go to see her, she found her so occupied and anxious (she was to take the junior classes after the holidays) that Tora became tired of her. Tora was now again living down at the Point with her mother (her father was never mentioned), where she shared an attic with two of her sisters. She lived in a hurry-scurry and disorder, and had a feeling of self-reproach and disgust for herself, which she shook off whenever she could cross the ferry and run up into the wood above "The Estate," or along the road to the right from the market-place, to the "Groves." This was a pleasure-ground in the wood near the road, a large open space with a number of small "groves"--that is to say, levelled patches, sometimes with benches and tables; an elaborate network of paths went in and out among them.
One Saturday afternoon she wished to go there to listen to the band, but on the way to the Frockener Jensens, where she was going to try to get a companion, she met Kaja Grondal; she had come into the town to meet her husband, but he had not arrived. "Would not Tora come back with her instead? The steamer left in an hour's time."
Tora had a great weakness for invitations. Within the hour she was back again with a large hat-box, in which she had put her night-things and a white dress.
The next morning, Sunday, she was standing on the terrace before the Grondals' little country house. On her right were all the flowers from the house, which had just been brought out to have the benefit of the rain--as yet it was only wet fog; behind the garden, on the right, it was drifting among the fir-woods; she could see the nearest trees and a little of the bare hillside lower down towards the sea, a faintly gleaming strip of which, was also to be seen. The fog lay very low, there was not a breath of wind. She could hear the steamer, which had just whistled, away to the left where the pier was; now she could see her passing quickly--a vague outline, a thicker, darker, moving cloud--through the white fog. She did not concern herself further about her, but looked towards the path which led up from the landing-place between this garden and the next. Just opposite was a low yellow railing, a very handsome one, of cast-iron; behind it, some old trees in a garden blotted out by the fog; there, she knew, stood several houses which she could not see from here. One of them was the Wingaards', where there was to be a party to-day.
Who would she meet there? She stood and thought about it. Fru Wingaard had been a Furst; would Niels Furst be there? She stood thinking. He was in the reserve fleet, which was lying in the Channel.
Why should he not come? It was Sunday; why should he not bring several of the officers with him?
If Tora had known this before she went on board the steamer yesterday, would she have come? She asked herself the question to-day. Directly she had heard it she had felt a trembling sensation, she felt it at times again to-day; but the disagreeable feeling was gone, oddly enough, she thought. Did she really wish to meet him? She did not want to be disturbed by him--no, nor yet to be looked at as she had been before. But to see him, to be seen by him, if it should so chance? Yes, she did wish that--she wished it very much.
When she went along the terrace, to the steps which led up from the left, she could see quite into the sitting-room, and also, in a looking-glass, whether the door of the inner room, where Fru Grondal slept, was open. No, it was still shut; so she went back to where she had been before.
She could still follow the steamer--that is to say, a dark moving cloud among the fog which hung on every side. The balustrade of the terrace was wet; she dried her hands, forgot, and put them on it again.
She need not have brought the white dress; it was fine rain now. The birds enjoyed the damp, they were singing all round her. Trees, flowers, and grass enjoyed it too.
She noticed their different scents; one of these carried her thoughts far, far away to a country house near Havre, close by the sea; clear blue air, ships, steamers, a long strip of sand, the lazy wash of the waves upon it; close to the sea a country house, low and grey; there they lived. The narrow gate into the garden was open; she stood there on a stone bench, in a short frock and with bare arms; she could see herself in the long striped stockings which she had admired so much the first time she had put them on; she peered over the hedge, and the scent of the flowers was wafted to her again and again, just as it was now. It was nearly evening, her uncle would be coming from the town.
The path through the gloomy orchard was gravelled--she heard his step.
Here to the left, in the fine rain, she saw an immense umbrella and white trousers below it. It was not raised enough for her to see who was coming; even now, when the garden-gate had to be opened, it was not lifted, it was only held more forward; but she knew now that the step on the gravel was coming, not towards the country house at Havre, but here; it was not her uncle, but----?
The umbrella was raised, its owner stood inside the garden. A dark coat, a straw hat, and a very puzzled face were seen; she felt something of the uneasiness from which she had thought herself free, but as he looked at her it passed off; just the reverse of what had occurred the last time.
He had evidently not expected to see a dark lady on the terrace, perhaps no one at all, so early in the day. But it was by no means disagreeable to him; he smiled and raised his hat, there was nothing in his eyes to-day which hurt her. He paused at the steps, the umbrella lay on his right shoulder while he laid his left arm on the balustrade and leaned against it. That was a well-formed hand with the signet-ring on it. He was slight and active; his head was noticeable for three things; a nervous sensuous mouth, which was constantly moving, the lips twitching backwards and forwards, in and out, as though moved by a string--the lips themselves being short and full; a pair of large eyes, roguish and gentle, though they stabbed when he put his head a little backward and half shut them: excessively curly hair of a golden colour, and long reddish whiskers. As he leaned over the balustrade, there was a repose about him full of careless enjoyment. But this mood was not to be depended upon, nor would one readily do so, for there was something in the head, body, and hands which, behind the gentle, lazy, pliable manner, reminded one of a cat.
Tora both felt and saw this, but to-day it was with more curiosity than fear.
"What an unexpected pleasure to meet you here; have you been here long?"
"I came here yesterday evening with Fru Grondal; she was in the town."
"Was she, indeed?"
And the two slipped into a conversation about the journey here, the weather, the place, without having been introduced to each other--a conversation without any other object than to have an excuse for looking at one another. The conversation was in short, disjointed sentences, without colour or calculation, except in so far that the last remark never remained the last.
He stood below and studied her with growing pleasure; the shape of her head, her features, her manners and expression. The eyes really shone under the long thick lashes--what colour were they? They looked black, but---- And her figure! her neck, arms, complexion, her dark hair, her dress; he put himself quite on one side, he was entirely occupied with her. How long this continued, they neither of them knew--it was a considerable time; he did not wish to disturb himself, she did not wish to disturb him. She saw herself in a living mirror, but the pleasure was not an innocent one, for by degrees it made her feel giddy. She collected herself and broke off the conversation; walked across the terrace to some flowers, and occupied herself with their petals, among which she made havoc. He came slowly up, with his umbrella over his shoulder, drawing his left hand along the balustrade.
"Of course you are going to my sister's this afternoon?"
"Fru Grondal will get an invitation for me," she said.
"Of course; we shall have some dancing--will you give me the first waltz?"
She did not look up. "Will you not dance the first waltz with me?"
She felt through her whole being that she ought not to answer him. "I beg your pardon, I forgot that we had not been introduced; but as you know who my sister is, you must have some idea who I am."
He smiled and came nearer, always with the big umbrella, and with his left hand gliding along the balustrade. She raised herself, but did not answer. "So there is some agreement about the first waltz?" He said it a little carelessly, in rather a patronising way, almost as though he were offended.
He put down the umbrella and turned towards the entrance. "Of course Fru Grondal is at home." He went in. Tora was about to add, "But she is not up." But that would look rather like asking him to stay here.
Besides, Fru Grondal must be so nearly dressed that she could warn him off herself, when she heard him in the sitting-room.
He went in there, but did not come out again. Had Fru Grondal gone there? No, there was no talking. She went towards the steps and looked into the mirror; the bedroom door was wide open.
Down the steps she flew, and through the garden, away into the wood, out of it again, for it was too wet; and out on to the mountain towards the sea, under the lee of the wood; there she sat down on a large stone. She was trembling: her breast heaved as though it would burst.
"Froken Holm!" called Fru Grondal; "Froken Holm!" She really was dressed, then. That call must be either from the terrace or the garden.
Perhaps Fru Grondal had been out when he went into the sitting-room, that was why there had been no talking. Tora could not collect herself sufficiently to answer Fru Grondal, and as she had not answered the first time, it seemed to her that she must disregard the other calls as well. Very soon she heard no more.
What time was it? Could he have come to make a call on a lady at that early hour? And to come straight from the landing-place, not to his sister's, but to Fru Grondal's. What was the time? But she had not her watch with her, she had forgotten it.
There were the white trousers coming up the hill towards her, and the umbrella as well! She was pursued and discovered. "Dear me, did you not hear Fru Grondal call you?" Tora did not answer. "And you are so wet--without an umbrella too; pray come under mine. Why did you run away?" No answer. "Fru Grondal has been making egg-flip for us the whole morning."
"Has she really?"
"Yes, really; her husband was to have been here this morning, and he owes me some egg-flip. But he has not come."
"What time is it?"
"What on earth do you want to know for? It is just eleven."
"Just eleven?"
"Yes, see for yourself." He held out a massive American gold watch towards her, opening the case as he did so. She was silent and walked on. As they approached the garden, she asked him how he had found her so quickly. Why, he had seen her footprint in the sand here, and he had drawn his own conclusion. No one would go into the wood when it was so wet, so she must be on the hill.