And Bernardine promised. There was something in Bernardine's manner which had won the poor girl's fancy: some unspoken sympathy, some quiet geniality.
Just as they were starting, Frau Steinhart whispered to Robert Allitsen:
"It is a little disappointing to me, Herr Allitsen. I did so hope you were betrothed."
August, the blue-spectacled driver, cracked his whip, and off the horses started homewards.
For some time there was no conversation between the two occupants of the sledge. Bernardine, was busy thinking about the experiences of the day, and the Disagreeable Man seemed in a brown study. At last he broke the silence by asking her how she liked his friends, and what she thought of Swiss home life; and so the time passed pleasantly.
He looked at her once, and said she seemed cold.
"You are not warmly clothed," he said. "I have an extra coat. Put it on; don't make a fuss but do so at once. I know the climate and you don't."
She obeyed, and said she was all the cosier for it. As they were nearing
Petershof, he said half-nervously:
"So my friends took you for my betrothed. I hope you are not offended."
"Why should I be?" she said frankly. "I was only amused, because there never were two people less lover-like than you and I are."