"Tell her to come in." "She says she wants to see you alone." "All right. Good night then, mother. Pleasant dreams to you." Henrik found Marie sitting by the open window looking over the tops of the shrubbery in the garden. The light from the setting sun bathed her in its glow, increasing the beauty of an already beautiful face. Henrik stepped up behind the girl and placed his hands under her chin. She did not turn her head. "This is a surprise," he said, "but I am _so_ glad to see you. Did you have a pleasant time at Skarpen?" There was no reply. The young woman still surveyed the garden and the darkening shadows on the lawn. "What is the matter, little girl?" he asked. He felt the trembling of her chin as she removed his hands. "No," she replied, "I did not have a good time." "I'm sorry. What was wrong?" "You were not there--you were somewhere else, where your heart is more than with me--you were, no doubt at Osterhausgade." She hardened her tone as she proceeded. "Oh, I'm not there all the time," he laughed. "You think more of the people you meet there than you do of me, at any rate." "What makes you think so?" "You, and your actions. O, Henrik, could you but hear the talk--I hear it, and people look so strangely at me, and pity me ... I can't stand it!" She arose as if to escape him, walked across the room, then sat down by the center table. He closed the window blind, then lighted the gas, and seated himself opposite her by the table. There was a pause which she at last broke by saying: "I hear that you are actually going to join those horrid people--is that true?" There was another long silence as they looked at each other across the table. "Yes," he said.