“And her work with me is purely physical and will not overtask her,” said Madame, glancing with approving eyes at the pretty little figure at the end of the room. “Dear little soul! she has the most perfect manners I ever saw in a child! Her charm to me is that she is so bright and unaffected. What is it, I wonder, that makes you Norwegians so spontaneous? so perfectly simple and courteous?” “In England,” said Sigrid, “people seem to me to have two sides, a rough home side, and a polite society side. The Bonifaces reverse the order and keep their beautiful side for home and a rather shy side for society, but still they, like all the English people I have met, have distinctly two manners. In Norway there is nothing of that. I think perhaps we think less about the impression we are making; and I think Norwegians more naturally respect each other.” She was quite right; it was this beautiful respect, this reverence for the rights and liberties of each other, that made the little home in the model lodgings so happy; while her own sunny brightness and sweetness of temper made the atmosphere wholesome. Frithiof, once more amid congenial surroundings, seemed to regain his native courtesy, and though Mr. Horner still disliked him, most of those with whom he daily came in contact learnt at any rate to respect him, and readily forgave him his past pride and haughtiness when they learnt how ill he had been and saw what a change complete recovery had wrought in him. Swanhild prospered well on that first Saturday afternoon, and Madame Lechertier was quite satisfied with her little idea as to the Norwegian costumes; the pretty foreigner at the piano, and the dainty little Norse girl who danced so bewitchingly, caused quite a sensation in the class, and the two sisters went home in high spirits, delighted to have pleased their kind-hearted employer. They had only just returned and taken off their walking things when there came a loud knock at the door. Swanhild still in her Hardanger dress ran to see what was wanted, and could hardly help laughing at the funny-looking old man who inquired whether Frithiof were in. “Still out, you say,” he panted; “very provoking. I specially wanted to see him on a matter of urgency.” “Will you not come in and wait?” said the child. “Frithiof will soon be home.” “Thank you,” said old Herr Sivertsen. “These stairs are terrible work. I shall be glad not to have to climb them again. But houses are all alike in London—all alike! Story after story, till they’re no better than the Tower of Babel.” Sigrid came forward with her pretty, bright greeting and made the old man sit down by the fire. “Frithiof has gone for a walk with a friend of his,” she explained. “But he will be home in a few minutes. I always persuade him to take a good walk on Saturday if possible.”