The questions filled her with joy: a great secret, her secret, was in its innermost depths. She felt conscious of strange elasticity. She had never made such haste home before. She was looking forward to singing with him again in the forenoon!
And she did sing. Tande sent word down by the sailor's wife that he expected her at twelve o'clock. A little before this hour she heard once more that melancholy, pure composition of yesterday.
Tande met her without a word. He merely bowed and went straight to the piano and then turned his head as before to bid her draw nearer. She sang scales, he gave suggestions as a rule without looking at her; the whole hour passed as a calm matter of business; she was thankful for this.
From her lesson she crossed the street to the lady. Fru Bang sat, or rather reclined, on the sofa, with an open book on her lap, and with Magda, to whom she was talking, in front of her. She was grave, or rather sorrowful; she looked up at Magnhild, but went on talking with the child, as though no one had entered. Magnhild remained standing, considerably disappointed. Then the lady pushed aside the child and looked up again.
"Come nearer!" said she, feebly, and made a motion with the hand that Magnhild did not understand.
"Sit down there on the footstool, I mean."
Magnhild obeyed.
"You have been with him?" Her fingers loosened Magnhild's hair as she spoke. "The knot is not quite right,"—then with a little caress, "You are a sweet child!"
She sat up now, looked Magnhild full in the eyes, gently raising her friend's head as she did so.
"I have resolved to make you pretty, prettier than myself. Do you see what I have bought for you to-day?"