The Indian Lily and Other Stories

Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Michael Lockey and PG
Distributed Proofreaders
1911
It was seven o'clock in the morning when Herr von Niebeldingk opened the iron gate and stepped into the front garden whose wall of blossoming bushes separated the house from the street.
The sun of a May morning tinted the greyish walls with gold, and caused the open window-panes to flash with flame.
The master directed a brief glance at the second story whence floated the dull sound of the carpet-beater. He thrust the key rapidly into the keyhole for a desire stirred in him to slip past the porter's lodge unobserved.
I seem almost to be—ashamed! he murmured with a smile of self-derision as a similar impulse overcame him in front of the house door.
But John, his man—a dignified person of fifty—had observed his approach and stood in the opening door. The servant's mutton-chop whiskers and admirably silvered front-lock contrasted with a repressed reproach that hovered between his brows. He bowed deeply.
I was delayed, said Herr von Niebeldingk, in order to say something and was vexed because this sentence sounded almost like an excuse.
Do you desire to go to bed, captain, or would you prefer a bath?
A bath, the master responded. I have slept elsewhere.
That sounded almost like another excuse.