her name--will be as interesting as Hedda Gabler, and Mrs. Alving, and
Nora, and all those lovely complex Ibsen creatures."

"They were Norwegians, dear," I said gently, anxious not to shatter
illusions; "the Ibsen plays deal with Christiania, not with Stockholm."

"But they are so near," declared Letitia, amiable and seraphic once
more. "Somehow or other, I invariably mix up Norway and Sweden and
Denmark. I know I shall always look upon Gerda as an Ibsen girl, who has
come here to 'live her life,' or 'work out her inheritance.' Perhaps,
dear, she has some interesting internal disease, or a maggoty brain.
Don't you think, Archie, that the Ibsen inheritances are always most
fascinating? A bit morbid, but surely fascinating."

"I prefer a healthy cook, Letitia," I said meditatively, "somebody
willing to interest herself in our inheritance, rather than in her own."

"I don't mind what you say now," she pouted, "I am not to be put down by
clamor. We really have a cook at last, and I feel more lenient toward
you, Archie. Of course I was only joking when I suggested the Ibsen
diseases. Gerda Lyberg may have inherited from her ancestors something
quite nice and attractive."

"Then you mustn't look upon her as Ibsen, Letitia," I protested. "The
Ibsen people never inherit nice things. Their ancestors always bequeath
nasty ones. That is where their consistency comes in. They are
receptacles for horrors. Personally, if you'll excuse my flippancy, I
prefer Norwegian anchovies to Norwegian heroines. It is a mere matter of
opinion."