Tidemand had passed thirty and was already getting a little grey around
the temples. He, too, was dark of hair and beard, but his eyes were brown
and had a listless expression. When he was sitting still and silent,
blinking slowly, these heavy lids of his would rise and sink almost as if
they were exhausted by much watching. He was beginning to get a little bit
stout. He was considered an exceedingly able business man.

He was married and had two children; he had been married four years. His
marriage had begun auspiciously and was still in force, although people
were at a loss to understand how it could possibly last. Tidemand himself
did not conceal his astonishment over the fact that his wife had managed
to tolerate him so long. He had been a bachelor too long, had travelled
too much, lived too much in hotels; he admitted it himself. He liked to
ring whenever he wanted anything; he preferred his meals served at all
hours, whenever he took a notion, no matter if it happened to be meal-time
or not. And Tidemand went into details: he could not bear to have his wife
serve him his soup, for instance--was it possible for a woman, even with
the best intention in the world, to divine how much soup he might want?

And, on the other side, there was Mrs. Hanka, an artistic nature, two and
twenty, fond of life and audacious as a boy. Mrs. Hanka was greatly gifted
and warmly interested in many things; she was a welcome guest wherever the
youthful assembled, whether in homes or bachelor dens; nobody could resist
her. No, she did not greatly care for home life or house drudgery. She
could not help that; unfortunately she had not inherited these tastes. And
this unbearable blessing, of a child every year two years running, drove
her almost to distraction. Good Lord! she was only a child herself, full
of life and frivolity; her youth was ahead of her. But pursuant to the
arrangement the couple had made last year, Mrs. Hanka now found it
unnecessary to place any restraint upon herself....