The visitors were expected at six o'clock, and as the ordinary dinner was to be passed over on account of the party, there was plenty of time for a careful toilet.
Even under ordinary circumstances, changing her dress was one of the chief events of the day to Miss Ragnhild. She regularly passed the two hours before dinner in her almost over-luxuriously furnished bedroom, in which there was always a delicate odour of the essence of violets.
It was one of her amusements to stand before her long glass, looking at herself as she dressed and undressed; she would admire her neck, her shoulders, her loosened hair, try a new way of doing it, or a new combination of colours for her costumes—all this not out of empty vanity, or love of display—who could she care to dazzle here?—but because it gave transient satisfaction to her longing for beauty, delicacy, and harmony.
Besides, what else was there for her to do?—She worked at her music every morning—and this was her happiest time. But the doctor had strictly forbidden her to spend more than three hours a day at the piano. She spent two hours in reading—preferably foreign languages—and at need she could kill two hours in household duties, although her personal help was quite superfluous. There remained eight long weary hours—what was she to do with them? Walk? but in the eight winter months the fields and roads were impassible morasses, or the
