“She did not speak to me, for my name is not Fritz. I do not see how you can help going, when she asked you so prettily.”
“I shall be in plenty of time presently. Will you dance now, Lotta? They are going to begin a waltz, and we will have a quadrille afterwards.”
“No, Herr Planken, I will not dance just now.”
“Herr Planken, is it? You want to quarrel with me then, Lotta.”
“I do not want to be one of two. I will not be one of two. Adela Bruhl is very pretty, and I advise you to go to her. I was told only yesterday her father can give her fifteen hundred florins of fortune! For me—I have no father.”
“But you may have a husband to-morrow.”
“Yes, that is true, and a good one. Oh, such a good one!”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You go and dance with Adela Bruhl, and you shall see what I mean.”
Fritz had some idea in his own mind, more or less clearly developed, that his fate, as regarded Lotta Schmidt, now lay in his own hands. He undoubtedly desired to have Lotta for his own. He would have married her there and then—at that moment, had it been possible. He had quite made up his mind that he preferred her much to Adela Bruhl, though Adela Bruhl had fifteen hundred florins. But he did not like to endure tyranny, even from Lotta, and he did not know how to escape the tyranny otherwise than by dancing with Adela. He paused a moment, swinging his cane, endeavouring to think how he might best assert his manhood and yet not offend the girl he loved. But he found that to assert his manhood was now his first duty.