shoulders—obviously to make her look less thin. She wore a row of pink beads round her neck, which were reflected in rosy spots on her skin.
Helge Gram sat down quietly at the end of the table and listened to the others talking about a friend of theirs who had been ill. An old Italian, with a dirty white apron covering his broad waistcoat, came up to ask what they required.
"Red or white, sweet or dry, what do you like, Gram?" said Heggen, turning to him.
"Mr. Gram must have half a litre of my claret," said Jenny Winge. "It is one of the best things you can have in Rome, and that is no small praise, you know."
The sculptor pushed his cigarette-case over to the ladies. Miss Jahrman took one and lighted it.
"No, Cesca—don't!" begged Miss Winge.
"Yes," said Miss Jahrman. "I shan't be any better if I don't smoke, and I am cross tonight."
"Why are you cross?" asked Ahlin.
"Because I did not get those corals."
"Were you going to wear them tonight?" asked Heggen.
"No, but I had made up my mind to have them."
"I see," said Heggen, laughing, "and tomorrow you will decide to have the malachite necklace."
"No, I won't, but it is awfully annoying. Jenny and I rushed down on purpose because of those wretched corals."
"But you had the good luck to meet us, otherwise you would have been obliged to go to Frascati, to which you seem to have taken a sudden dislike."
"I would not have gone to Frascati, you may be sure of that, Gunnar, and it would have been much better for me, because now that you have made me come I want to smoke and drink and be out the whole night."
"I was under the impression that you had suggested it yourself."
