Hanka.
He was down-town; he had met a few acquaintances; he did not say much, but
was in a satisfied frame of mind. He had taken a look at Paulsberg's great
portrait which was now exhibited in the Arrow, in the large window which
everybody had to pass; people crowded in front of it continually. The
painting was elegant and obtrusive; Paulsberg's well-groomed form looked
very distinguished in the plain cane-bottomed chair, and people wondered
if that was the chair in which he had written his books. All the
newspapers had mentioned the picture in flattering terms.
Irgens had a glass of wine in front of him and listened abstractedly to
the conversation. Tidemand was still optimistic; that bit of rain in
Russia had not depressed his hopes. The prices were not soaring as yet,
but they surely would. Suddenly Irgens pricked up his ears: Tidemand was
talking about their summer plans.
"We are not going to the country after all," he said; "Hanka thought--In
fact, I told her plainly that if she wanted to go she would have to go
alone; I was too busy to think of getting off. Hanka was very nice about
it; she agreed to stay in the city."
The door opened and Milde entered.
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