ined to leave at once; but as I
entered the sitting-room my hostess was seated on the large gothic
settee or sofa, near the dining-room door, and no sooner did she
perceive me than she leaned forward across the table in front of her and
asked,--

"What do _you_ think of Spencer's theory of education? Do you believe we
can put it into practice?"

I did not wish to be drawn into an argument, and so merely answered,--

"Your husband's practice, at all events, does not accord with Spencer's
teachings."

"My husband's practice? Why, he has none."

Here she smiled.

"You mean he takes no interest in the children?"

"Oh, he is like most other men, I suppose," she replied; "they amuse
themselves with their children, now and then, and whip them
occasionally, too, when anything occurs to annoy them."

"You believe that husband and wife should have equal responsibilities in
such matters?"

"Yes, to be sure I do. But even in this respect men have made what
division they chose."

I expressed a desire to take my leave. She appeared much astonished, and
asked if I would not first drink coffee; "but, it is true," she added,
"you have no one to talk with."

She is not the first married woman, I thought, who makes covert attacks
on her husband.

"Fru Atlung!" I said, "you have no reason to speak so to me."

"No, I have not. You must excuse me."

It was growing dusk; but unless I was greatly in error, she was almost
ready to weep.

So I took my seat on the other side of the table. "I have a feeling,
dear Fru Atlung, that you desire to talk to some one; but I am surely
not the right person."

"And why not?" she asked.

She sat with both elbows on the table, looking into my face.

"Well, if for no other reason, at least because such a conversation
needs to be entered into more than once, because there are so many
things to consider, and I am going away again to-day."

"But cannot you come again?"

"Do you wish it?"

She was silent a moment, then she said slowly: "As a rule, I have but
one great wish at a time. And it was fully in keeping with the one I now
have that _you_ should come here."

"What is it, my dear lady?"

"Ah, that I cannot tell you, unless you will promise me to come again."

"Well, then, I will promise you to do so."

She extended her hand across the table with the words: "Thank you."

I turned on my chair toward her, and took her hand.

"What is it, my dear lady?"

"No, not now," she