Hester had laughed and shaken her head; then she had half consented to his teasing, knowing well she would not come.
The next day Anton brought her a splendid bunch of roses and continued his pleading. He was crazy about her; she had the dandiest shape and—he would treat her right if she'd only come down and—then he tried to kiss her.
There were two reasons why Hester had not altogether discouraged these advances: she could not deny herself the feminine satisfaction of exasperating an over-zealous suitor by making promises which she had no intention of keeping, and she did not wish to incur Anton's enmity. She distrusted this man partly through that vague memory in the rathskeller, partly on general principles. And after the second broken appointment she sent him a civil note pretexting a headache.
The next day he had begged her, almost with tears in his eyes, to meet him that afternoon at five o'clock in the summer house by the lake—for a few minutes. And she had promised faithfully to come. Anton felt sure she would really come this time, and in her honor had donned his best gray suit and a new straw hat with red and black band, which, with his light malacca cane, gave him quite a smart appearance.
"This is where I land her," he said to himself, as he strolled across the foot-bridge, sharp on the stroke of five.
But alas for the hopes of lovers! Half an hour passed, three-quarters of an hour and no Hester.
"She's thrown me down!" he muttered angrily and, leaving the summer house, he strode along the path, switching the ground savagely with his cane. There was no doubt about it, she was giving him the big laugh. Little devil! If he only had something on her so he could make her come!
And now a singular thing happened, one of those odd coincidences that give to trifles the importance of great events. A gentle breeze was blowing down the lake and, borne by this, there came fluttering along what seemed to be a small white butterfly and it lighted directly in Anton's path. The chauffeur switched at it with his cane and missed it, switched at it again and missed it again. Then he saw that it was not a butterfly at all, but a small square of white paper no bigger than a postage stamp and he wondered how it was that this floating fragment had come to rest balanced exactly on its edge. It certainly was strange! What kept it poised there quivering on that moss bank? Why did it not fall over on one side or the other?
Anton stooped and picked up the piece of paper and, seeing some writing, he glanced at it carelessly. Good Lord! What was this! He stopped short and stared at the words, then, lifting his hat, he ran his fingers through his hair and for some minutes stood absorbed in thought.
"By the holy jumping Christopher Columbus!" he said slowly. "I believe I've got it." And sitting down on a bench he continued to study the paper. Presently he took out a gold cigarette case and a moment later he was blowing out toward the peaceful lake the fragrance of Turkish tobacco with little nods and chuckles of extreme satisfaction.