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 I was furious with Erik. How could he be so foolish and tactless.

Now that it is over, I see it all too well. The ball was of course meant to celebrate mine and Erik's engagement. To the guests, I dare say, it was a disappointment that they did not get the announcement as an extra cracker at dessert, and for Erik it was more than embarrassing. Then he thought he could save the situation by treating me in a way which made everybody think that we were engaged, only that we preferred to keep it secret at present.

I have never seen Erik quite like this before. He behaved as though he were a shopwalker. He hovered round, paying me silly compliments. Yes, he even kissed my hand during the cotillon. He ought to be grateful I kept my temper and did not box his ears. But when at last in the hall he was helping me with my snowboots, and in the presence of several guests complimented me on my graceful little foot, the foot gave him very gracefully, but rather forcefully, a push, so that he overbalanced himself, stopping any further remarks of this kind.

And the others, Erik's family as well as his friends, came with frequent allusions and amiable impertinences. When a partner invited me to dance, it was done with many little knowing smirks and speeches such as: 'If Miss Magens can possibly waste a dance on me,' or 'if it is allowed,' and Erik, who scarcely left my side all the evening,