Another knocking. Aunt Katrina entered, smiling at Helga’s quick, lithe spring from the bed. They were going out to tea, she informed Helga. What, the girl inquired, did one wear to tea in Copenhagen, meanwhile glancing at her aunt’s dark purple dress and bringing forth a severely plain blue crêpe frock. But no! It seemed that that wouldn’t at all do.

“Too sober,” pronounced Fru Dahl. “Haven’t you something lively, something bright?” And, noting Helga’s puzzled glance at her own subdued costume, she explained laughingly: “Oh, I’m an old married lady, and a Dane. But you, you’re young. And you’re a foreigner, and different. You must have bright things to set off the color of your lovely brown skin. Striking things, exotic things. You must make an impression.”

“I’ve only these,” said Helga Crane, timidly displaying her wardrobe on couch and chairs. “Of course I intend to buy here. I didn’t want to bring over too much that might be useless.”

“And you were quite right too. Umm. Let’s see. That black there, the one with the cerise and purple trimmings. Wear that.”

Helga was shocked. “But for tea, Aunt! Isn’t it too gay? Too—too—outré?”

“Oh dear, no. Not at all, not for you. Just right.” Then after a little pause she added: “And we’re having people in to dinner tonight, quite a lot. Perhaps we’d better decide on our frocks now.” For she was, in spite of all her gentle kindness, a woman who left nothing to chance. In her own mind she had determined the role that Helga was to play in advancing the social fortunes of the Dahls of Copenhagen, and she meant to begin at once.

At last, after much trying on and scrutinizing, it was decided that Marie should cut a favorite emerald-green velvet dress a little lower in the back and add some gold and mauve flowers, “to liven it up a bit,” as Fru Dahl put it.

“Now that,” she said, pointing to the Chinese red dressing-gown in which Helga had wrapped herself when at last the fitting was over, “suits you. Tomorrow we’ll shop. Maybe we can get something that color. That black and orange thing there is good too, but too high. What a prim American maiden you are, Helga, to hide such a fine back and shoulders. Your feet are nice too, but you ought to have higher heels—and buckles.”