Jörgen Thiis forgot to speak; he even for a considerable time forgot to eat, though, as a rule, he liked nothing better. He followed Marit about like a sleep-walker. She was never to be seen without him behind her or at her side. Her father and Mrs. Dawes had, on account of the ball, come in to the town house. They were awakened at dawn of day by loud talking and laughter outside, ending with cheers; the whole company had seen Marit home. Next day the relations and friends of the Krog family came to call. The elder people who had been at the ball considered Marit to be the most beautiful creature they had ever seen. At nine o'clock in the evening old Klaus had rowed into town and trudged round for the express purpose of getting some of his friends to come out and see her. In the afternoon Jörgen presented himself in uniform, with new gloves. He had taken the liberty of calling to ask how Miss Krog was. But nothing had as yet been heard of that young lady. When she did make her appearance, her mind was not occupied with yesterday, but with something quite different. This Mrs. Dawes felt at once. The queen of the ball told nothing about the ball. She contented herself with asking if they had been awakened. Then she went and had something to eat. When she came back, her father told her that Jörgen had called to ask how she was. Marit smiled. "Do you not like Jörgen?" asked Mrs. Dawes. "Yes." "Why did you smile, then?" "He ate so much." "His father, the Amtmand, does the same," remarked Krog, laughing. "And he always picks out the daintiest morsels." "Yes, exactly." Mrs. Dawes sat waiting for what was to come next; for something was coming. Marit left the room; in a short time she appeared again with her hat on and a parasol in her hand. "Are you going out?" asked Mrs. Dawes. Marit was standing pulling on her gloves. "I am going to order visiting-cards." "Have you no cards?" "Yes, but they are not suitable now." "Why not?" said Mrs. Dawes, much surprised. "You thought them so pretty when we bought them, in Italy." "Yes--but what I don't think suits me any longer is the name." "The name?" Both looked up. "I feel exactly as if it were no longer mine." "Marit does not suit you?" said Mrs. Dawes. Her father added gently: "It was your mother's name." Marit did not answer at once; she felt the dismay in her father's eyes. "What do you wish to be called, then, child?" It was again Mrs. Dawes who spoke. "Mary." "Mary?" "Yes. That suits better, it seems to me." The silent astonishment of her companions evidently troubled her. She added: "Besides, we are going to America now. There they say Mary." "But you were baptised Marit," put in her father at last. "What does that matter?" "It stands in your certificate of baptism, child," added Mrs. Dawes; "it is your name." "Yes, it is in the certificate, no doubt--but not in me." The others stared. "This grieves your father, child."