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And so she pairs off with the most casual visitors, flirts with the guide, hovering about him and making bandages for his fingers, and at last throws herself into the arms of a nameless nobody who has arrived at the house today. This is the Torsen type.
He went by way of the village a very roundabout route while she crossed the field. It is very quiet now, but Miss Torsen is still here. Why do I not leave? Don't know. Why ask? I'm here. Have you ever heard anyone ask: "How much is a northern light?" Hold your tongue. Where should I go if I did leave? Do you imagine I want to go to the town again?
After we had been sitting there for some time, Tradesman Batt came in, listened to her for a moment, and then said: "I'm going out now, Miss Torsen; are you coming?" She swept him once with her eyes from head to foot; then she turned away and went on talking, looking very proud and determined as she did so.
No part of his life is destroyed, nor anything within him. As he came, so he goes, cheerful, empty, nice. In fact he is even something more of a man because he has really made a conquest. He has no wish but to spend some pleasant hours with the Torsen type. He strolled about the garden waiting for her to get ready.
I thought oh, I don't know. But when I came back to town again it was as though " A pause. "I don't know what to think," she said. "And I do because I'm old and wise. You see, Miss Torsen, in the old days people didn't think so much about cleverness and secondary schools and the right to vote; they lived their lives on a different plane, they were naive.
Yes, indeed, he had learned a great deal at school. "Here you see an Artemis cotula," he said. Miss Torsen, who had also imbibed much learning, recognized the name and said: "Yes, take plenty of it with you." "What for?" "It's insect powder." Schoolmaster Staur knew nothing of that, and there was a good deal of discussion in which Associate Master Hoey had to take a hand.
But Miss Torsen went on swinging, and the lawyer went on putting his arm round her and stopping her.... It was a Saturday evening. I stood talking to the lawyer in the garden; he didn't like the place, and wanted to leave, but Miss Torsen would not go with him, and going alone was such a bore. He did not conceal that the young woman meant something to him.
A young, handsome lady; she might have been your daughter, you know." "Thank you." "Well, I'm only saying what's so. She said she would come at once, because she had to see you about something." The landlady left me. So Miss Torsen was coming this very evening; something must have happened. She had never visited me before. I looked round; yes, everything was neat and tidy.
"Yes," he replied. "She talked about it last Friday." "Who talked about it? Miss Torsen?" "Yes. She said I might sit in the gallery." We walked on down the street, each busy with his own thoughts or perhaps with the same thought. I, at least, was furious. "Really, my good Nikolai, I have no desire to buy tickets in order to look at Mr. Flaten and his ladies!" "No."
He followed her with gross eyes wherever she went, and in order to assert himself and seem indifferent, he would sing a song of the linesman's life whenever she was about. But he might have saved himself the trouble. Miss Torsen was stone-deaf to his songs. And now it seemed she was going to stay at the resort out of sheer defiance.
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