"Dear lady, I understand, of course, but I should never have thought of mentioning a word of our relations in the past."
"Thanks, thanks! Oh, I can see now you have not changed. Kind and thoughtful as ever; you were good to me, Mr. Holm—not like the others." Her voice trembled a little, and she grasped his hand.
Holm flushed slightly, murmured a few polite words, and thought—of Betty.
Mrs. Rantzau continued: "I should like you to understand, to realise yourself the position I was placed in then. Will you let me tell you the whole story—if you've time?"
"Indeed I've time—you took up quite a considerable amount of my time before, you know," he added kindly.
"Ah, I see you're the same as ever, Mr. Holm, always bright and cheerful over things."
"Why, yes, I'm glad to say. It would be a pity not to."
"Well, let me begin. My life hasn't been a path of roses—far from it; it's been mostly thorns. If only I could write, I might make quite an exciting story of it all. I'm forty-two now, started life as a parson's daughter up in the north, was married to a poet, and lived with him in Paris; my child was born, and I was left a widow then. I had to keep myself and Betty by the work of my hands; sang at concerts, and accompanied in Hamburg, lived as a countess in Westphalia——"
"What—a countess?"
"Well, very nearly. But I'll tell you about that later. I taught French in Copenhagen, and painting in Gothenburg, was housekeeper to a lawyer in a little Norwegian town, nearly married him but not quite, and ended up here teaching singing. So you see I've been a good many things in my time."