“Good evening,” he said very softly, holding out his hand, which Ella took without looking up.  “Good evening,” he said again, still more softly, and drew nearer.

She was aware of a gentle pressure and had to raise her eyes.  They conveyed a bashful message half confident, half timid.  It was a rapid glance, by which no one was enlightened or scandalised.  He looked down at her, while he stroked his beard, but either because he had nothing more to say—­he was not talkative—­or that he could not say what he wished; he became absolutely silent.  In the quiet way which was peculiar to him he turned and left her.  He was on at once by his friends, and for the rest of the evening she only saw him now and again, and always at a distance.

He did not dance, but she did.  Everybody said how “sweet” she was (it was said with all respect); and that evening she really did beam with happiness.  In whatever part of the room Aksel Aaroe chanced to be, she felt conscious of his presence, felt a secret delight in whirling past him.  His eyes followed her, his nearness made all and everything resplendent.

Standing in the doorway was a heavy, sturdy fellow, who had constituted himself the critic of the assemblage.  He appeared to be between thirty and forty; nearer the latter; he had a weather-beaten, coarsely-moulded, but spirited face, black hair, and hazel eyes; his figure approached the gigantic.  Every one in the room knew him; Hjalmar Olsen, the fearless commander of one of the largest steamers.

He scanned the dancers as they passed him, but gave the palm to the little one in the red dress; she was the pleasantest to look at:  not only was she a fine girl, but her buoyant happiness seemed to infect him.  When Aksel Aaroe approached, Hjalmar Olsen received a share of the love glances which streamed from her eyes.  She danced every dance.  Hjalmar Olsen was tall enough to catch glimpses of her in all parts of the room.  She also noticed him; he soon became a lighthouse in her voyage, but a lighthouse which interested itself in the ships.  Thus he now felt that she was in danger so near to Peter Klausson’s waistcoat.  He knew Peter Klausson.

Her tiny feet tripped a waltz, while the plait kept up an accompanying polka.  Certainly Peter Klausson did press her too close to his waistcoat!

Olsen therefore sought her out as soon as the waltz was over, but it was not so easy to secure a dance; a waltz was the first one for which she was free, and she gave him that.  Just as this was arranged, every one pressed towards the platform, on which the Choral Society now appeared.  Ella felt herself hopelessly little when they all rushed forward and packed themselves together.  Hjalmar Olsen, who saw her vain attempts to obtain a peep, offered to lift her up on to the bench which ran along the wall, by which they were standing.  She dare not agree to this, but he saw that others were mounting the bench,