“Anemone place.” Jenny laughed. “When you were a boy did you, too, have special places for violets and bluebells, and kept them a secret from the others and went there all alone every year?” “Of course I had. I know a beech grove by the old road to Holmenkollen, where there are real scented violets.” “I know it too,” she interrupted triumphantly, “to the right, just before the road branches off to Sorkedal.” “Exactly. I had some other places too, on Fredriksborg and——” “I must go in and put on my dress,” said Jenny. “Put on the one you had yesterday, please!” he called after her. “It will get so dusty”—but she changed her mind in the same moment. Why should she not make herself look nice? The old black silk had been her best for a good many years; she need not treat it with such deference any more. “I don’t care! but it fastens at the back, and Cesca’s not in.” “Come out here and I’ll button it for you. I am an expert at it. It seems to me I have done nothing all my life but fasten mother’s and Sophy’s buttons at the back.” She could manage all but two, and she allowed Gram to help her with them. As she stood by him in the sunshine while he fastened her dress, he became aware of the faint, mild fragrance of her hair and her body. He noticed one or two small rents in the silk, which were carefully darned, and the sight of it filled his heart with an infinite tenderness towards her. * * * * * “Do you think Helge a nice name?” he asked, when they were having lunch at an _osteria_ far out on the Campagna. “Yes; I like it.” “Do you know that it is my Christian name?” “Yes; I saw you had written it in the visitors’ book at the club.” She blushed slightly, thinking he might believe that she had looked it up on purpose. “I suppose it is nice. On the whole, there are few names that are nice or ugly in themselves; it all depends if you like the people or not. When I was a boy we had a nurse called Jenny; I could not bear her, and ever since I thought the name was hideous and common. It seemed to me preposterous that you should be called Jenny, but now I think it so pretty; it gives one an idea of fairness. Can you not hear how delicately fair it sounds?—Jenny—a dark woman could not be called that, not Miss Jahrman, for instance. Francesca suits her capitally, don’t you think? It sounds so capricious, but Jenny is nice and bright.” “It is a name we’ve always had in my father’s family,” she said, by way of an answer. “What do you think of Rebecca, for instance?” “I don’t know. Rather harsh and clattering, perhaps, but it is pretty, though.”