Every one knew it, but not to a living being would she have admitted it: Tinka was engaged. He, the man, had just gone to college; she had a letter from him once a week; for many reasons she did not wish to have them oftener. He was called Frederik--Frederik Tygesen; his father was the stipendiary judge Tygesen, here in the town. Nora was "the first person in the world" whom she had told this to. How delighted Nora was! Really, properly engaged, with letters every week and the tacit consent of her parents. How had it come about? Well, that was the odd thing about it; they neither of them knew. They had once when she was eight years old, through an open door, heard Fru Rendalen and her mother talking about Augusta and Tomas Rendalen, about what _he_ had said to _his_ mother about Augusta, and what _she_ had said to _her_ mother about Tomas. Ever since then these children had been fond of each other, just as those other two had been; but they had never spoken about it--never. A sincere friendship was founded between Nora and Tinka upon this confidence, and Tinka's friendship brought others with it. Nora was obliged to recall some of her interests from Christiania, and by degrees to form a new circle of admirers. She began to write less frequently to the friends in Christiania, and the letters would begin, "It is a terribly long time since," or "I really am a wretch who----," or "Procrastination is to blame." But there was a limit to those whom she could conquer in the new senior class, and this did not please her; in fact, she principally coveted the friendship of those who withheld it, but all the same she could not pass this boundary. The fact was that a queen had reigned there before her--nay, was there still. Her ways of gaining power were different from Nora's; whether they were less or not, depended on who it was who measured them. First of all, she was the richest heiress in the town; secondly, if there were the slightest sign of rain, snow, or cold wind, a servant drove up to fetch her home, and then it was a question who should drive home with her. She had almost always something good with her; her pocket-money was of that description that the more she spent, the more she had; the resources of her dainty little purse were incredible in this respect. She got money from her mother, from her father, from two unmarried uncles. As well as this she was pretty, discreet, attentive; no one had ever known her to use a hasty word, or be rough, even at the gymnasium; she was always very polite and a little subdued. In her eyes, to forget yourself was the worst of crimes. She had lived, so to say, wrapped up in cotton wool, and one felt this whenever one approached her. We know her already; she is Emilie Engel. She was not specially gifted, but was industrious; she really worked hard when there was anything on foot. Every one liked her, several paid court to her, one or two absolutely raved about her.