“Do you want to hear this sentence?” she said, “because if you do I’ll read it.” “‘My son Frithiof will do himself the honor to await your arrival at Bergen on the landing-quay, and will drive you to Holdt’s Hotel, where we have procured the rooms you desired. My daughter Sigrid (See-gree) is eager to make the acquaintance of your daughter and your niece, and if you will all dine with us at two o’clock on Friday at my villa in Kalvedalen we shall esteem it a great pleasure.’” “Two-o’clock dinner!” exclaimed Florence Morgan, for the first time joining in the general conversation. “What an unheard-of hour!” “Oh! everything is primitive simplicity out here,” said Mr. Morgan. “You needn’t expect London fashions.” “I suppose Frithiof Falck will be a sort of young Viking, large-boned and dignified, with a kind of good-natured fierceness about him,” said Blanche, folding the letter. “No, no,” said Florence, “he’ll be a shy, stupid country bumpkin, afraid of airing his bad English, and you will step valiantly into the breach with your fluent Norwegian, and your kindness will win his heart. Then presently he will come up in his artless and primitive way with a _Vaer saa god_ (if you please) and will take your hand. You will reply _Mange tak_ (many thanks), and we shall all joyfully dance at your wedding.” There was general laughter, and some trifling bets were made upon the vexed question of Frithiof Falck’s appearance. “Well,” said Mr. Morgan, “it’s all very well to laugh now, but I hope you’ll be civil to the Falcks when we really meet. And as to you, Cyril,” he continued, turning to his nephew, a limp-looking young man of one-and-twenty, “get all the information you can out of young Falck, but on no account allow him to know that your father is seriously thinking of setting you at the head of the proposed branch at Stavanger. When that does come about, of course Herr Falck will lose our custom, and no doubt it will be a blow to him; so mind you don’t breathe a word about it, nor you either, girls. We don’t want to spoil our holiday with business matters, and besides, one should always consider other people’s feelings.” Cecil set her teeth and the color rose to her cheeks; she moved away to the other side of the deck that she might not hear any more. “What hateful people! they don’t care a bit for the kindness and hospitality of these Norwegians. They only mean just to use them as a convenience.” Then as her brother rejoined her she exclaimed, “Roy, who are those vulgar people over on the other side?” “With two pretty girls in blue ulsters? I think the name is Morgan, rich city people. The old man’s not bad, but the young one’s a born snob. What do you think I heard him say as he was writing his name in the book and caught sight of ours. ‘Why, Robert Boniface—that must be the music-shop in Regent Street. Norway will soon be spoiled if all the cads take to coming over.’ And there was I within two yards of him.”