"Fröken Holm!" called Fru Gröndal; "Fröken Holm!" She really was dressed, then. That call must be either from the terrace or the garden. Perhaps Fru Gröndal had been out when he went into the sitting-room, that was why there had been no talking. Tora could not collect herself sufficiently to answer Fru Gröndal, and as she had not answered the first time, it seemed to her that she must disregard the other calls as well. Very soon she heard no more. What time was it? Could he have come to make a call on a lady at that early hour? And to come straight from the landing-place, not to his sister's, but to Fru Gröndal's. What was the time? But she had not her watch with her, she had forgotten it. There were the white trousers coming up the hill towards her, and the umbrella as well! She was pursued and discovered. "Dear me, did you not hear Fru Gröndal call you?" Tora did not answer. "And you are so wet--without an umbrella too; pray come under mine. Why did you run away?" No answer. "Fru Gröndal has been making egg-flip for us the whole morning." "Has she really?" "Yes, really; her husband was to have been here this morning, and he owes me some egg-flip. But he has not come." "What time is it?" "What on earth do you want to know for? It is just eleven." "Just eleven?" "Yes, see for yourself." He held out a massive American gold watch towards her, opening the case as he did so. She was silent and walked on. As they approached the garden, she asked him how he had found her so quickly. Why, he had seen her footprint in the sand here, and he had drawn his own conclusion. No one would go into the wood when it was so wet, so she must be on the hill. They eat egg-flip together very merrily; but an hour later Tora was sitting alone in her room, in the attics--she had fastened the door; and at six o'clock the same evening, as the guests were assembling at the Wingaards', she was on board the steamer, which was returning to the town. What had happened? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! But like the fog over the landscape, which still hung there, although not so low as in the morning, there lay something over all this, which was vague and puzzling to her. She could not bear to be with Fürst and Fru Gröndal. She could not be natural with them; everything she said or did seemed preposterous. She did not therefore venture to go to the party; the mere thought of waltzing with Fürst made her tremble. It would not do. There was nothing for it but to fly. She made herself appear terribly foolish, in trying to find reasons for her flight; such a one as that she had crumpled her white dress in her hat-box, could be answered by a hot iron; that her mother expected her, presupposed a letter by carrier pigeon.