when young ladies, acquaintances, or “friends,” visit each other, and from the house slip out alone into garden or wood.  An attentive observer meanwhile, by scrutinizing the physiognomy of both, would, perhaps, have come to the conclusion, that even if these two had been together on the most unobstructed road, no confidence would have arisen between them, and would have suspected the hostess of trying to atone for her lack of interest, by being polite and careful.  She was not strikingly handsome, but possessed of a fine nature, which manifested itself in the whole figure, and perhaps, especially, in the uncommonly well-formed nose; yet it was by peering into her eyes that one first obtained the idea of a womanhood somewhat superior to the generality of her sex.  Their expression was not to be caught at once:  they told of both meditation and resolve, and hinted at irony or badinage, which works so queerly when it comes from deep ground.  The other lady was “burgherly-genteel,” a handsome, cultivated girl, had certainly also some soul, but yet was far less busy with a world in her own heart than with the world of fashion.  It was about the world, the world of Copenhagen, that Miss Brandt at this moment was giving Miss Hjelm an account, interrupted by the boughs and branches, and although Miss Hjelm was not, nun-like, indifferent either to fashions or incidents in high life, the manner in which Miss Brandt unmistakably laid her soul therein, caused her to go thus politely before.

“But you have heard about Emmy Ibsen’s marriage?” asked Miss Brandt.

“Yes, it was about a month ago, I think.”

“Yes, I was bridesmaid.”

“Indeed!” said Miss Hjelm, in a voice which atoned for her brevity.

“The party was at the shooting-ground.”

“So!” said Miss Hjelm again, with as correct an intonation as if she had learned it for “I don’t care.”  “Take care, Miss Brandt,” she added, stooping to avoid an apple-branch.

“Take care?—­oh, for that branch!” said Miss Brandt, and avoided it as charmingly and coquettishly as if it had been living.

“It was very gay,” she added, “even more so than wedding-parties commonly are; but this was caused a good deal by Counsellor Bagger.”

“So!”

“Yes, he was very gay ...  I was his companion at table.

“Ah!”

“Oh, only to think! at the table he stands up declaring that he is engaged.”

“Was his lady present?”

“No, that she was not, I think.  Do you know who it was?”

“No, how should I know that, Miss Brandt?”

“The whirlwind!”

“The whirlwind?”

“Yes.  He said that he, as a young man, in a solemn moment had sent his love letter or his promise out with the wind, and he was continually waiting for an answer:  he had given his promise, was betrothed!—­Ou!”

“What is it?” asked Miss Hjelm, sympathetically.  The truth was, the young hostess at this moment had relaxed her polite care, and a limb of a gooseberry-bush had struck against Miss Brandt’s ankle.