And we danced. Nothing awkward happened; I turned giddy, but did not fall. My heavy boots made a certain amount of noise; I could hear it myself, the noise, and resolved not to dance any more; I had even scratched their painted floor. But how glad I was that I had done nothing worse!
Herr Mack's two assistants from the store were there, laboriously and with a solemn concentration. The Doctor took part eagerly in the set dances. Besides these gentlemen, there were four other youngish men, sons of families belonging to the parish, the Dean, and the district surgeons. A stranger, a commercial traveller, was there too; he made himself remarked by his fine voice, and tralala'ed to the music; now and again he relieved the ladies at the piano.
I cannot remember now what happened the first few hours, but I remember everything from the latter part of the night. The sun shone redly in through the windows all the time, and the seabirds slept. We had wine and cakes, we talked loud and sang, Edwarda's laugh sounded fresh and careless through the room. But why had she never a word for me now? I went towards where she was sitting, and would have said something polite to her, as best I could; she was wearing a black dress, her confirmation dress, perhaps, and it was grown too short for her, but it suited her when she danced, and I thought to tell her so.
“That black dress...” I began.
But she stood up, put her arm round one of her girl friends, and walked off with her. This happened two or three times. Well, I thought to myself, if it's like that... But then why should she stand looking sorrowfully after me from the window when I go? Well, 'tis her affair!
A lady asked me to dance. Edwarda was sitting near, and I answered loudly:
“No; I am going home directly.”
Edwarda threw a questioning glance at me, and said: “Going? Oh, no, you mustn't go.”
I started, and felt that I was biting my lip. I got up.
“What you said then seemed very significant to me, Edwarda,” I said darkly, and made a few steps towards the door.