“It’s so like a man,” she told herself without troubling to think just what she did mean by the words. “Oh, dear! oh, dear!” and she turned from the window and flung herself despairingly into one of the big red velvet chairs, preparing to read or to cry as the fancy might seize her.
There came a light tap at the door and then it opened a very little.
“Oh, pardon me,” cried a sweet, sweet voice, “I think you are perhaps gone out!”
Then the door opened and the speaker showed herself. It was the daughter of the house, an ideally blonde and bonny German girl. She came across the room and her face shaded slightly as she asked:
“You have no bad news? no?”
“No,” said Rosina, forcing a smile; “I’m only very cross.”
“Cross? Why cross? You are but laughing at me. You are not really cross.”
Rosina was silent; her lip quivered slightly.
“Oh,” said Fraülein quickly. “I am come that I may ask you a favor! The parlor has a workman to make the window again; it is not good closed, and the French lady wishes to call on you. May she come here?”
“Yes,” Rosina said, “I shall be so very glad to have her come here, and Ottillie can bring us some tea after a while.”