Ballasted, a middle-aged man, dressed in an old velvet jacket and broad-brimmed artist’s hat, stands at the foot of the flag staff, arranging the cord. The flag is lying on the ground. A little way off stands an easel with a stretched canvas. Beside it, on a camp-stool, are brushes, palette, and a paint-box.
Boletta Wangel comes out upon the verandah through the open garden-room door. She is carrying a large vase of flowers, which she places upon the table.
Boletta.
Well, Ballested,—can you get it to run?
Ballested.
Oh yes, Miss Boletta. It’s easy enough.—May I ask if you are expecting visitors to-day?
Boletta.
Yes, we expect Mr. Arnholm this morning. He came to town last night.
Ballested.
Arnholm? Wait a moment—wasn’t Arnholm the name of the tutor you had here some years ago?