Part 3 (1/2)
”His father, the Amtmand, does the same,” remarked Krog, laughing. ”And he always picks out the daintiest morsels.”
”Yes, exactly.”
Mrs. Dawes sat waiting for what was to come next; for something was coming. Marit left the room; in a short time she appeared again with her hat on and a parasol in her hand.
”Are you going out?” asked Mrs. Dawes.
Marit was standing pulling on her gloves.
”I am going to order visiting-cards.”
”Have you no cards?”
”Yes, but they are not suitable now.”
”Why not?” said Mrs. Dawes, much surprised. ”You thought them so pretty when we bought them, in Italy.”
”Yes--but what I don't think suits me any longer is the name.”
”The name?”
Both looked up.
”I feel exactly as if it were no longer mine.”
”Marit does not suit you?” said Mrs. Dawes.
Her father added gently: ”It was your mother's name.”
Marit did not answer at once; she felt the dismay in her father's eyes.
”What do you wish to be called, then, child?” It was again Mrs. Dawes who spoke.
”Mary.”
”Mary?”
”Yes. That suits better, it seems to me.”
The silent astonishment of her companions evidently troubled her. She added:
”Besides, we are going to America now. There they say Mary.”
”But you were baptised Marit,” put in her father at last.
”What does that matter?”
”It stands in your certificate of baptism, child,” added Mrs. Dawes; ”it is your name.”
”Yes, it is in the certificate, no doubt--but not in me.”