“Oh, no, not at all,” said Crescenz; “I don’t think I am at all afraid of him. Why should I?”
“Why, indeed! See, Crescenz, he is looking this way now; just turn towards him and make some sign, or else I must apply to Hildegarde.”
“Oh, go to Hildegarde, if you like,” said Crescenz, half laughing; “but most probably they have just been quarrelling, and, in that case, she will send you to papa or mamma.”
“For that matter, I might as well go to your father at once, as he is standing beside him; for a married woman it would be of no consequence, you know; but, still, I should prefer the introduction to appear accidental. Men are generally vain—especially Englishmen, they say.”
“Oh, he is not at all vain, though Hildegarde insists that he is; and says, too, that he ridicules everybody. She took an inveterate dislike to him at first sight.”
“Well, that does surprise me, for his appearance is certainly prepossessing; but I think also he has a tolerably good opinion of himself: in so far I must agree with her; but why should he not? He is certainly good-looking, probably clever, and no doubt rich!”
“Oh, he is very clever,” said Crescenz; “even Hildegarde allows that.”
“Well, my dear, to return; will you introduce him or not?”
“Pray, don’t ask me.”
The Doctor’s wife shrugged her shoulders, shook back her blonde ringlets, and walked, with an evident attempt at unconcern, across the room.