“She evidently didn’t want to tell me，” was my wife’scomment， as we went to the drawing-room. “I imagine，dear， that she doesn’t quite like the idea of my ferreting outSwedish so persistently. But I intend to persevere. The worstof conversation books is that one acquires a language in such aparroty way. Now， in my book， the only answer to the question‘How old are you？’ is， ‘I was born on the tenth of August，1852.’ For the life of me， I couldn’t vary that， and it would bemost embarrassing. It would make me fifty-two. If any oneasked me in Swedish how old I was， I should have to be fiftytwo！”
“When I think of my five advertisements，” I said lugubriously，as I threw myself into an arm-chair， fatigued at my efforts todiscover dinner， “when I remember our expectation， and thepleasant anticipations of to-day， I feel very bitter， Letitia. Justto think that from it all nothing has resulted but that beastlymummy， that atrocious ossified thing.”
“Archie， Archie！” said my wife warningly； “please be calm.
Perhaps I was too engrossed with my studies to note thedeficiencies of dinner. But do remember that I pleaded withher for a Swedish meal. The poor thing did what I asked herto do. Our dinner was evidently Swedish. It was not her faultthat I asked for it. Tomorrow， dear， it shall be different. We hadbetter stick to the American régime. It is more satisfactory toyou. At any rate， we have somebody in the house， and if ourfive advertisements had brought forth five hundred applicantswe should only have kept one. So don’t torture yourself，Archie. Try and imagine that we had five hundred applicants，and that we selected Gerda Lyberg.”
“I can’t， Letitia，” I said sulkily， and I heaved a heavy sigh.
“Come，” she said soothingly， “come and study Swedish withme. It will be most useful for your Lives of Great Men. Youcan read up the Swedes in the original. I’ll entertain you withthis book， and You’ll forget all about Mrs. Potz—I mean GerdaLyberg. By-the-by， Archie， she doesn’t remind me so much ofHedda Gabler. I don’t fancy that she is very subtile.”
“You， Letitia，” I retorted， “remind me of Mrs. Nickleby. Youramble on so.”
Letitia looked offended. She always declared that Dickens“got on her nerves.” She was one of the new-fashioned readerswho have learned to despise Dickens. Personally， I regrettedonly his nauseating sense of humor. Letitia placed a cushionbehind my head， smoothed my forehead， kissed me， madeher peace， and settled down by my side. Lack of nourishmentmade me drowsy， and Letitia’s babblings sounded vague andmuffled.
“It is a most inclusive little book，” she said， “and if I cansucceed in memorizing it all I shall be quite at home with thelanguage. In fact， dear， I think I shall always keep Swedishcooks. Hark at this： ‘If the wind be favorable， we shall be atGothenburg in forty hours.’ ‘Om vinden ？r god， sa ？ro vi papyrtio timmar i Goteborg.’ I think it is sweetly pretty. ‘You areseasick.’ ‘steward， bring me a glass of brandy and water.’ ‘Weare now entering the harbor.’ ‘We are now anchoring.’ ‘Yourpassports， gentlemen.’”
A comfortable lethargy was stealing o’er me. Letitia tooka pencil and paper， and made notes as she plied the book.
“A chapter on ‘seeing a town’ is most interesting， Archie. Ofcourse， it must be a Swedish town. ‘Do you know the twoprivate galleries of Mr. Smith， the merchant， and Mr. Muller，the chancellor？’ ‘tomorrow morning I wish to see all the publicbuildings and statues.’ ‘statyerna’ is Swedish for statues，Archie. Are you listening， dear？ ‘We will visit the Church ofthe Holy Ghost， at two， then we will make an excursion onLake M？lan and see the fortress of Vaxholm.’ It is a charminglittle book. Don’t you think that it is a great improvement onthe old Ollendorff system？ I don’t find nonsensical sentenceslike ‘the hat of my aunt’s sister is blue， but the nose of mybrother-in-law’s sister-in-law is red.’”
I rose and stretched myself. Letitia was still plunged in theirritating guide to Sweden， where I vowed I would never go.
Nothing on earth should ever induce me to visit Sweden. If itcame to a choice between Hoboken and Stockholm， I mentallydetermined to select the former. As I paced the room I hearda curious splashing noise in the kitchen. Letitia’s studies musthave dulled her ears. She was evidently too deeply engrossed.
I strolled nonchalantly into the hall， and proceededdeliberately toward the kitchen. The thick carpet deadened myfootsteps. The splashing noise grew louder. The kitchen doorwas closed. I gently opened it. As I did so a wild scream rentthe air. There stood Gerda Lyberg in—in—my pen declinesto write it—a simple unsophisticated birthday dress， takingan ingenuous reluctant bath in the “stationary tubs，” withthe plates， and dishes， and dinner things grouped artisticallyaround her！
The instant she saw me she modestly seized a dish-toweland shouted at the top of her voice. The kitchen was filled withthe steam from the hot water. ‘venus arising’ looked nebulous，and mystic. I beat a hasty retreat， aghast at the revelation， andalmost fell against Letitia， who， dropping her conversationbook， came to see what had happened.
“She’s bathing！” I gasped， “in the kitchen—among theplates—near the soup—”
“Never！” cried Letitia. Then， melodramatically： “Let mepass. Stand aside， Archie. I’ll go and see. Perhaps—perhaps—you had better come with me.”
“Letitia，” I gurgled， “I’m shocked！ She has nothing on but adish-towel.”
Letitia paused irresolutely for a second， and going into thekitchen shut the door. The splashing noise ceased. I heard thesound of voices， or rather of a voice—Letitia’s！ Evidently shehad forgotten Swedish， and such remarks as “If the wind befavorable， we shall be at Gothenburg in forty hours.” I listenedattentively， and could not even hear her say “We will visit theChurch of the Holy Ghost at two.” It is strange how the stressof circumstances alters the complexion of a conversation book！