There were, she explained later, two more dolls in mourning, but Anna had been with her so much lately that she had not been able to dress many of them, otherwise her plan had been to have them all in mourning, that would have been charming. Another knock, low and hesitating. They held their breaths; Milla was quite unnerved. They heard her go; they listened so intently that they could hear her step on the stairs. It was a most unlucky chance. Milla had given orders that if any one besides Tora came they were to say that she had gone out for a walk on account of her headache. But the maid who had received the order, Milla's own maid, could not have answered the door, although it was her time for doing so. What should Milla do? But from this consideration she was swept away by a whirlwind.
Nora lay on the bed in Tinka Hansen's room; a little wainscoted, blue-painted attic in shoemaker Hansen's new house in the market-place. As well as the bed there was an open bookshelf painted brown, one or two chairs, a large washstand intended for two, but for which no other place could be found; a high short sofa on which Tinka now sat, looking across at the bed, her right arm resting on her little desk which stood on the table before her.
Nora lay sobbing loudly, and Tinka sat calmly by and looked at her; Nora knew now what faithlessness was, how it tasted to be deserted for the sake of another.
But it was more than being forsaken--she was abandoned, deposed, made nothing of. Tora had lifted her up to the skies; she was "all mind," "could not make a mistake." And now this very Tora had dropped her--for Milla Engel! The world was nothing but lies and delusions. "Oh dear! Tinka, why cannot you be kind to me? You do not know how unhappy I am." But Tinka was silent. "I cannot do without you, Tinka--no, I cannot. I have discovered since this morning that I made nothing but mistakes. I have no stability--no, not a bit."
"No, that is it," said Tinka soothingly.
"Not a bit; oh dear, what shall I do? Won't you talk to me?" She cried dreadfully now.
"You only care for adoration, Nora."
"Not 'only,' Tinka; don't say 'only.'"
"No, no; but you are never happy unless you are adored, and one tires of that."
"What shall I do, Tinka? Goodness knows I am tired of it myself. Ah, you do not believe it, but it's true, especially now since Milla is adored as well. Ugh! it is disgusting to think of."