"You will absolutely degenerate in the life you lead," Wolfgang went on, impatiently. "Here you have been planted for five years in this wretched little mountain-nest with a practice which makes the most tremendous demands upon you, and brings you but the poorest remuneration, and here you will perhaps stay all your life, only because you have not the courage to grasp anything else that offers. How can you endure such an existence?"
"My home certainly does present an aspect unlike that of your rooms," said Benno, good-humouredly, as he looked around him. "But you always had the tastes of a millionaire, and years ago you determined to be one, and you understand how to grasp fortune boldly; no one can deny that."
Elmhorst frowned, and replied, in an irritated tone, "What! you too? Must I always be assailed by these hints as to Nordheim's wealth, as if my importance were entirely due to my betrothal? Am I nothing of myself any longer?"
Reinsfeld looked at him in surprise: "What do you mean, Wolf? You know that I enjoy your good fortune with all my heart, but you are strangely sensitive whenever I allude to it, although you certainly have every reason to be proud, for if ever a man achieved a speedy and brilliant success, you are that man."
Upon Wolfgang's writing-table stood a photograph of Alice in a richly-carved frame. It was a likeness, but a very unflattering one; there was little justice done to the delicacy of her features, and the eyes were entirely without expression. That slender, overdressed girl produced the impression of one of those nervous, superficial creatures who are so frequently to be met with in the fashionable world. This seemed to be Dr. Reinsfeld's opinion; he looked at his friend and then at the picture, remarking, drily, "Your attainment of your goal, however, has not made you happy."
Wolfgang turned upon him: "Why not? What do you mean?"
"Come, come, do not be angry again. I cannot help it, you are much changed from the Wolfgang of a few months ago. I hear of your betrothal, and expect you to return to me beaming with the triumphant consciousness of the realization of all your plans, instead of which you are now always grave, not to say out of humour, and irritable to a degree,--you who used to be so even-tempered. What is the matter with you, Wolf? tell me."
"Nothing. Let me alone," was the rather peevish reply; but Benno went up to him and laid his hand upon his shoulder:
"If your betrothal had been an affair of the heart I should think something there had gone wrong, but----"
"I have no heart; you have told me so often enough," Wolfgang interposed, bitterly.