Frithiof would probably have passed on had he not, at that moment, recognized Cecil as the English girl whom he had first accosted on the steamer.
“Pardon me for not knowing you before,” he said, raising his hat. “We met yesterday afternoon, did we not? I hope you have had a pleasant time at Bergen?”
“Delightful, thank you. We think it the most charming town we ever saw.”
“Barring the rain,” said Roy, “for which we have foolishly forgotten to reckon.”
“Never be parted from your umbrella is a sound maxim for this part of the world,” said Frithiof, smiling. “Halloo! it is coming down in good earnest. I’m afraid you will get very wet,” he said, glancing at Cecil’s pretty gray traveling dress.
“Shall we stand up for a minute under that porch, Roy?” said the girl, glancing at a villa which they were just passing.
“No, no,” said Frithiof: “please take shelter with us. My father’s villa is close by. Please come.”
And since Cecil was genuinely glad not to get wet through, and since Roy, though he cared nothing for the rain, was glad to have a chance of seeing the inside of a Norwegian villa, they accepted the kindly offer, and followed their guide into the pretty, snug-looking house.
Roy had heard a good deal of talk about sweetness and light, but he thought he had never realized the meaning of the words till the moment when he was ushered into that pretty Norwegian drawing-room, with its painted floor and groups of flowers, and its pink-tinted walls, about which the green ivy wreathed itself picturesquely, now twining itself round some mirror or picture-frame, now forming a sort of informal frieze round the whole room, its roots so cleverly hidden away in sheltered corners or on unobtrusive brackets that the growth had all the fascination of mystery. The presiding genius of the place, and the very center of all that charmed, stood by one of the windows, the light falling on her golden hair. She had taken off her hat and was flicking the rain-drops from it with her handkerchief when Frithiof introduced the two Bonifaces, and Roy, who found his novel experience a little embarrassing, was speedily set at ease by her delightful naturalness and frank courtesy.
Her bow and smile were grace itself, and she seemed to take the whole proceeding entirely as a matter of course; one might have supposed that she was in the habit of sheltering wet tourists every day of her life.