When he had taken the mug from her and replaced it on the table, he drew a chair close to her and said as kindly as he could, for he did not feel very well-disposed toward the girl who was the cause of much unhappiness to Elsa:
"Now, Klara, you are going to tell me what is the matter with you."
But already she had recovered herself a little, and Lakatos Andor's somewhat dictatorial tone grated upon her sensitive ear.
"There's nothing the matter with me," she retorted, with a return of her habitual flippancy. "What should be the matter?"
"I don't know," he said dryly; "and, of course, if you tell me that it's a private affair of your own and none of my business, why I'll be quite satisfied, and not ask any more questions. But if it's anything to do with Béla . . ."
"No, of course not," she broke in impatiently. "What should Béla have to do with my affairs? Béla has been gone from here this hour past."
"And he is not coming back?" asked Andor searchingly.
"I trust not," she replied fervently, and the young man noticed that the staring, terror-filled look once more crept into her eyes.
"Very well, then," he said, rising, "that is all I wanted to know. I am sorry to have disturbed you. Good-night, Klara."
"Good-night," she murmured.