"No one has ever taught me to understand poetry," said the young man, almost in a tone of apology. "In my uncle's house nobody knows anything about it, and my tutors have never done more than give me dry, formal lessons. I am only just beginning to see that there is such a thing in the world."
The last words were spoken with a certain dreaminess of expression very new to Waldemar. He tossed back the hair which, as usual, had fallen low over his forehead, and leaned his head against the trunk of a beech. Wanda suddenly discovered that the brow so constantly hidden beneath those unkempt light locks was high and remarkably well-shaped. Now that it was free and exposed to view, it seemed really to lend nobility to the plain, irregular face. On the left temple a peculiarly distinct blue vein stood out, marked and salient even in a moment of repose. The young Countess had never noticed it before, hidden, as it generally was, beneath the enormous lion's mane which was always an object of derision to her.
"Do you know, I have just found out something, Waldemar," said she, mischievously.
"Well?" he asked, without changing his position.
"That strange blue vein on your forehead. My aunt has one, too, on the temple, just in the same place and exactly similar, only less strongly marked."
"Really? Well, it is the only thing I have of my mother about me."
"Yes, it is true; you are not in the least like her," said Wanda, candidly, "and Leo is her very image!"
"Leo!" repeated Waldemar, with a singular intonation. "Leo, indeed! That is a very different matter."
Wanda laughed. "Why? Has the younger brother any advantage over the elder in this respect?"
"Why not? He has the advantage of his mother's love. I should think that was enough."