The next morning, Sunday, she was standing on the terrace before the Gröndals' little country house. On her right were all the flowers from the house, which had just been brought out to have the benefit of the rain--as yet it was only wet fog; behind the garden, on the right, it was drifting among the fir-woods; she could see the nearest trees and a little of the bare hillside lower down towards the sea, a faintly gleaming strip of which, was also to be seen. The fog lay very low, there was not a breath of wind. She could hear the steamer, which had just whistled, away to the left where the pier was; now she could see her passing quickly--a vague outline, a thicker, darker, moving cloud--through the white fog. She did not concern herself further about her, but looked towards the path which led up from the landing-place between this garden and the next. Just opposite was a low yellow railing, a very handsome one, of cast-iron; behind it, some old trees in a garden blotted out by the fog; there, she knew, stood several houses which she could not see from here. One of them was the Wingaards', where there was to be a party to-day. Who would she meet there? She stood and thought about it. Fru Wingaard had been a Fürst; would Niels Fürst be there? She stood thinking. He was in the reserve fleet, which was lying in the Channel. Why should he not come? It was Sunday; why should he not bring several of the officers with him? If Tora had known this before she went on board the steamer yesterday, would she have come? She asked herself the question to-day. Directly she had heard it she had felt a trembling sensation, she felt it at times again to-day; but the disagreeable feeling was gone, oddly enough, she thought. Did she really wish to meet him? She did not want to be disturbed by him--no, nor yet to be looked at as she had been before. But to see him, to be seen by him, if it should so chance? Yes, she did wish that--she wished it very much. When she went along the terrace, to the steps which led up from the left, she could see quite into the sitting-room, and also, in a looking-glass, whether the door of the inner room, where Fru Gröndal slept, was open. No, it was still shut; so she went back to where she had been before. She could still follow the steamer--that is to say, a dark moving cloud among the fog which hung on every side. The balustrade of the terrace was wet; she dried her hands, forgot, and put them on it again. She need not have brought the white dress; it was fine rain now. The birds enjoyed the damp, they were singing all round her. Trees, flowers, and grass enjoyed it too.