The rest of the company exchanged glances as much as to say: “What is the matter with the man? What has got into him?”
Franka would gladly have heard him continue.
“Please, Mr. Helmer, explain what you mean....”
But he shook his head and said no more.
She occasionally met him in her grandfather’s room; but there also he generally remained silent. If he spoke, as he did only to answer some direct question, she found something particularly attractive both in the sound of his voice and in the choice of his words.
He was not handsome—far from it; he would be rather more likely to be called ugly; but it was not a common ugliness, and whatever else he was, Mr. Helmer was certainly a gentleman.
Franka had not failed to notice that she inspired the young man with admiration: it betrayed itself in his eyes, in his attitude, in the intonations of his voice. It was a thoroughly respectful admiration which strove to hide and not to betray itself, and consequently Franka responded to it with many a gracious word and friendly smile.
But an end soon came to this harmless little flirtation, if it could be called such. Six weeks after Franka’s arrival, Helmer was obliged to take his departure from Sielenburg. Cousin Albertine had indulged in some idle gossip concerning the two. “Evidently,” she said, “that crazy secretary is falling in love with Franka.” Something peculiar also was noticed in Franka’s behavior, and after her mother’s escapade—the apple does not fall far from the tree—and it was to be feared that some similar fatality might ensue.... These and other insinuations made to the count’s sister, and by her communicated to the count himself, resulted in the young man’s being dismissed. After his departure Franka felt still more isolated.
In the course of the summer several times, but not frequently, for an hour or two during the afternoon, callers from the neighborhood came to the castle, and were served with a cup of tea in the garden. The conversation always revolved around the same topics: society and family news, the prospects of the harvest, hunting experiences, chronicles of sicknesses, and the results of “cures” at the sea-baths, gossip of the court mixed in with a dash of politics (from the agrarian point of view), and with lamentations over the degeneracy of the times (from the clerical point of view).
It devolved on Franka, as the daughter of the house, to pour the tea, yet the others treated her with a shade of condescension, as if she were only a kind of companion. She could never even try to insinuate herself into the good graces of these strangers; she remained taciturn and reserved. The topics of conversation and the questions that occupied the lives of this little circle scarcely appealed to her; perhaps, if she had grown up and been educated among them, she might have found edification in it, but it was all strange to her—on the other hand, the others had no comprehension of her aspirations, her ambitions, her realm of thought.