"If I understand you, the case stands thus: You have refused Sir Peter Le Marchant, but you do not feel at all sure that he will not propose to you again. Is it not so?"
"And you dread and shrink from the idea of a repetition of this business?"
"It would not kill you. People are not so easily killed as all that; but it is highly unfit that you should be subjected to a recurrence of it. I will think about it. Will you have the goodness to read me a page of this book?"
Much surprised at this very abrupt change of the subject, but not daring to make any observation upon it, I took the book--the current number of a magazine--and read a page to her.
"That will do," said she. "Now, will you read this letter, also aloud?"
She put a letter into my hand, and I read:
"DEAR MADAME,--In answer to your letter of last week, I write to say that I could find the rooms you require, and that by me you will have many good agreements which would make your stay in Germany pleasanter. My house is a large one in the Alléestrasse. Dr. Mittendorf, the oculist, lives not far from here, and the Städtische Augenklinik--that is, the eye hospital--is quite near. The rooms you would have are upstairs--suite of salon and two bedrooms, with room for your maid in another part of the house. I have other boarders here at the time, but you would do as you pleased about mixing with them.
"With all highest esteem, "Your devoted, "'CLARA STEINMANN.'"
"You don't understand it all, I suppose?" said she, when I had finished.
"That lady writes from Elberthal. You have heard of Elberthal on the Rhine, I presume?"
"Oh, yes! A large town. There used to be a fine picture-gallery there; but in the war between the--"
"There, thank you! I studied Guy's geography myself in my youth. I see you know the place I mean. There is an eye hospital there, and a celebrated oculist--Mittendorf. I am going there. I don't suppose it will be of the least use; but I am going. Drowning men catch at straws. Well, what else can you do? You don't read badly."
"I can sing--not very well, but I can sing."
"You can sing," said she, reflectively. "Just go to the piano and let me hear a specimen. I was once a judge in these matters."
I opened the piano and sung, as well as I could, an English version of "Die Lotus-blume."