However, I had not taken Freule Menela's talents into due account—or my own failings.
"Is there such a man?" she asked.
"There might be," I cautiously repeated. "The question is, are you engaged to Mr. van Buren, or are you not?"
"There has been an understanding between his family and mine, for many years, that some day we should marry," she answered. "And, of course, he's very fond of me, though you might not think it from his manner. He often appears to feel more interest in women for whom he cares nothing, than in me, to whom he is devoted. That is a characteristic of men who have his reserved nature."
"I'm afraid I don't understand reserved natures," said I. "If I care for any one, I can't help showing it."
"I have often thought," went on Freule Menela, "of telling Robert van Buren that he and I are not suited to each other. My ideal man is very different. And besides, as I said, nothing could induce me to settle down in Rotterdam."
"You might make that the determining point," I suggested, "if you were looking for an excuse to save his feelings."
"Do you really think so?" she asked.
"I certainly do. Then you could leave him the choice. Rotterdam, without you; the more lively place, with you. Oh! don't you think, for your sake and his, you ought to do this at once?"
"And a little for the sake of—the other man?" she asked, archly.