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The papers are all writing about the splendid progress the tourist traffic has made in Stordalen since the motor road was opened ought I not to go there and feel gratified? From old habit, I still take an interest in the few of us who are left; Miss Torsen is still here. Miss Torsen what more is there to be said about her?
She was quite unlike Miss Torsen, the only other good-looking lady at the farm; Miss Torsen was tall and dark. But perhaps Mrs. Brede was not always so calm as she seemed. One evening when she went down to the men's hut and asked Solem to do her a service, I saw that her face was strange and covered with blushes. Would Solem come to her room and repair a window-blind that had fallen down?
"But something will turn up," says Josephine. She need not worry, for she has money in the bank, and no doubt there is a young man in the offing, on the other side of the fjeld. Oh, yes, Josephine will always manage; she thinks of everything. The other day, for instance when Miss Torsen and her friend left.
He was in no hurry; though it was no longer early in the day, he took his time about tying his bundles, preparatory to leaving. Lingeringly he looked into the windows of the south wing as he passed. Then Solem was gone. A little later Miss Torsen came in to breakfast. She asked at once about Solem. And why might she be so interested in Solem?
What cared she for Tradesman Batt! Had she not toiled through her youth and gained school knowledge? But no reality! Poor Miss Torsen. Solem must not show a path to any other lady tonight. As nothing more was said, and Solem was preparing to depart, Miss Torsen cleared her throat. "Come with me instead!" she said. Solem looked round quickly and said, "All right."
"We've had these actor-people here before. And I didn't like the way he swanked about outside, thinking he was as good as anybody, and throwing his stick up in the air and catching it again. And then when Miss Torsen came in to say good-bye, I told her, and I wondered if she couldn't let me have the money for him.
Miss Torsen was filled with madness now; handsome and desperate, she paced back and forth; you could almost see the sparks flying. Her red felt hat was held on the back of her head by a pin, the brim turned up high in front. Her throat was bare, her frock thin, her shoes light. It was extraordinary to watch her behavior; she had opened a window onto her secret desires.
Then one evening someone finds him reading under a lamppost, stops suddenly and stares, takes a few steps toward him, and bends forward searchingly. "Isn't it ? Oh, no, excuse me, I thought " "Yes, it is. Good evening, Miss Torsen." "Why, good evening. I thought it looked like you. Good evening. Yes, thank you, very well. And thanks for the knapsack; I understood all at once I quite understand "
Perhaps she, too, in her room wishes me far away. "Good-bye," I say to the actor. "Will you remember me to Miss Torsen? I must go now." "Good-bye," says he, shaking hands in some surprise. "Can't you wait a few minutes? Well, all right, I'll give her your greeting. Good-bye, good-bye."
But let me not forget Flaten, for something has happened to him. His friends have given him a farewell party and drunk him out of bachelordom, for he is going to marry. It is Miss Torsen who told me this; I met her by accident again under her own lamppost, and she told me then. "And you're not wearing mourning?" I said. "Oh, no," she said, smiling. "No, it's something I've known a long time.
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