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 make a few more sketches out there. I am planning a big picture, you see—don't you think it is a good subject, with all the working people and the mule-carts in the excavation field?"

"Very good. I am sure you can make something of it. I should like to show it to Gunnar and Ahlin. Oh, you are up! Let me do your hair. What a mass of it you have, child. May I do it in the new fashion?—with curls, you know." Francesca pulled her fingers through her friend's long, fair hair. "Sit quite still. There was a letter for you this morning. I brought it up. Did you find it? It was from your little brother, was it not?"

"Yes," said Jenny.

"Was it nice?—were you pleased?"

"Yes, very nice. You know, Cesca, sometimes—only on a Sunday morning once in a while—I wish I could fly home and go for a stroll in Nordmarken with Kalfatrus. He is such a brick, that boy."

Francesca looked at Jenny's smiling face in the glass. She took down her hair and began to brush it again.

"No, Cesca; there is no time for it."

"Oh yes. If they come too early they can go into my room. It is in a terrible state—a regular pigsty—but never mind. They won't come so early—not Gunnar, and I don't mind him if he does, and not Ahlin either for that matter. He has already been to see me this morning; I was in bed, and he sat and talked. I sent him out on to the balcony while I dressed, and then we went out and had a good meal at Tre Re. We have been together the whole afternoon."

Jenny said nothing.

"We saw Gram at Nazionale. Isn't he awful? Have you ever seen anything like it?"

"I don't think he is bad at all. He is awkward, poor boy, exactly as I was at first. He is one of those people who would like to enjoy themselves, but don't know how to."