I stayed at Herr Mack's house all that evening. I might have gone off again at once--it did not interest me to stay sitting there--but had I not come because all my thoughts were drawing me that way? And how could I go again at once? We played whist and drank toddy after supper; I sat with my back turned to the rest of the room, and my head bent down; behind me Edwarda went in and out. The Doctor had gone home. Herr Mack showed me the design of his new lamps--the first paraffin lamps to be seen so far north. They were splendid things, with a heavy leaden base, and he lit them himself every evening--to prevent any accident. He spoke once or twice of his grandfather, the Consul. “This brooch was given to my grandfather, Consul Mack, by Carl Johan with his own hands,” he said, pointing one finger at the diamond in his shirt. His wife was dead; he showed me a painted portrait of her in one of the other rooms--a distinguished looking woman with a lace cap and a winsome smile. In the same room, also, there was a bookcase, and some old French books, no less, that might have been an heirloom. The bindings were rich and gilded, and many owners had marked their names in them. Among the books were several educational works; Herr Mack was a man of some intelligence. His two assistants from the store were called in to make up the party at whist. They played slowly and doubtfully, counted carefully, and made mistakes all the same. Edwarda helped one of them with his hand. I upset my glass, and felt ashamed, and stood up. “There--I have upset my glass,” I said. Edwarda burst out laughing, and answered: “Well, we can see that.” Everyone assured me laughingly that it did not matter. They gave me a towel to wipe myself with, and we went on with the game. Soon it was eleven o'clock. I felt a vague displeasure at Edwarda's laugh. I looked at her, and found that her face had become insignificant, hardly even pretty. At last Herr Mack broke off the game, saying that his assistants must go to bed; then he leaned back on the sofa and began talking about putting up a sign in front of his place. He asked my advice about it. What colour did I think would be best? I was not interested, and answered “black,” without thinking at all. And Herr Mack at once agreed: “Black, yes--exactly what I had been thinking myself. 'Salt and barrels' in heavy black letters--that ought to look as nice as anything... Edwarda, isn't it time you were going to bed?” Edwarda rose, shook hands with us both, said good-night, and left the room. We sat on. We talked of the railway that had been finished last year, and of the first telegraph line. “Wonder when we shall have the telegraph up here.” Pause.