On the table behind Magnhild lay the materials for a summer costume.
"This is for you, it will be becoming."
"But, dear lady!"
"Hush! Not a word, my friend! I am not happy unless I can do something of the kind—and, in this case, I have my own reasons into the bargain."
Her large, wondrous eyes seemed to float away in dreams.
"There, that will do!" said she, and rose hastily.
"Now we will dine together; but first we must have a short stroll, and in the afternoon a long stroll, and then we will have some singing and afterwards a delightful siesta; that is what he likes!"
But neither short nor long stroll was accomplished, for it rained. So the lady busied herself with cutting out Magnhild's dress; it was to be made in the neighborhood after Fru Bang's own pattern.
They sang together, and even longer than on the preceding day. A supply of songs for two voices was telegraphed for; a few days later the package arrived. During the days which followed most of the songs were gone through with the utmost accuracy. Every day Magnhild had her regular lesson. Tande entered into it with the same business-like silence as on the first day. Magnhild gained courage.
Wonderful days these were! Song followed upon song, and these three were continually together, chiefly at the lady's, where they most frequently both dined and supped. One day Fru Bang would be in the most radiant mood, the next tormented with headache, and then she would have a black, red, and brown kerchief tied like a turban, about her head, and would sit or recline on the sofa, in languid revery.