Left alone, Helga began to wonder. She was dubious, too, and not a little resentful. Certainly she loved color with a passion that perhaps only Negroes and Gypsies know. But she had a deep faith in the perfection of her own taste, and no mind to be bedecked in flaunting flashy things. Still—she had to admit that Fru Dahl was right about the dressing-gown. It did suit her. Perhaps an evening dress. And she knew that she had lovely shoulders, and her feet were nice.

When she was dressed in the shining black taffeta with its bizarre trimmings of purple and cerise, Fru Dahl approved her and so did Herr Dahl. Everything in her responded to his “She’s beautiful; beautiful!” Helga Crane knew she wasn’t that, but it pleased her that he could think so, and say so. Aunt Katrina smiled in her quiet, assured way, taking to herself her husband’s compliment to her niece. But a little frown appeared over the fierce mustache, as he said, in his precise, faintly feminine voice: “She ought to have earrings, long ones. Is it too late for Garborg’s? We could call up.”

And call up they did. And Garborg, the jeweler, in Fredericks gaarde3 waited for them. Not only were earrings bought, long ones brightly enameled, but glittering shoe-buckles and two great bracelets. Helga’s sleeves being long, she escaped the bracelets for the moment. They were wrapped to be worn that night. The earrings, however, and the buckles came into immediate use and Helga felt like a veritable savage as they made their leisurely way across the pavement from the shop to the waiting motor. This feeling was intensified by the many pedestrians who stopped to stare at the queer dark creature, strange to their city. Her cheeks reddened, but both Herr and Fru Dahl seemed oblivious of the stares or the audible whispers in which Helga made out the one frequently recurring word “sorte,” which she recognized as the Danish word for “black.”

Her Aunt Katrina merely remarked: “A high color becomes you, Helga. Perhaps tonight a little rouge—” To which her husband nodded in agreement and stroked his mustache meditatively. Helga Crane said nothing.