"I wish there were any hope of my becoming such a fine old buffer in my _decadence_,--it would be worth living for if only to look at myself in the glass now and then.

He rather startled me when he threw down that knife, though.

I suppose it is some old Norwegian custom ?" "I suppose so," Errington answered, and then was silent, for at that moment the door opened and the old farmer returned, followed by a girl bearing a tray glittering with flasks of Italian wine, and long graceful glasses shaped like round goblets, set on particularly slender stems.
The sight of the girl disappointed the eager visitors, for though she was undeniably pretty, she was not Thelma.

She was short and plump, with rebellious nut-brown locks, that rippled about her face and from under her close white cap with persistent untidiness.

Her cheeks were as round and red as lore-apples, and she had dancing blue eyes that appeared for ever engaged in good-natured efforts to outsparkle each other.