After dinner, the husband and wife remained alone together in the parlour. The Professor paced up and down the room in a manner very unusual to him, striving in vain to hide some inward uneasiness, but too much absorbed by his thoughts to notice the silent fit which had overtaken his young companion, generally so animated. Gretchen sat on the sofa, and watched him for some time. At last she advanced to the attack.
"Emile," she began, with a solemnity not exceeded by Hubert's, "Emile, I am shamefully treated here!"
Fabian looked up, greatly shocked.
"You! Good Heavens, by whom?"
"By my papa, and, what is worst of all, by my own husband."
The Professor was at his wife's side in a moment. He took her hand in his, but she drew it away very ungraciously.
"Shamefully!" she repeated. "You show no confidence in me whatever. You have secrets from me. You treat me like a child, me, a married woman, wife of a Professor of the J---- University! It is abominable!"
"Dear Gretchen," said Fabian, timidly, and then stopped.
"What was papa saying to you just now, when you were in his room?" enquired Gretchen. "Why do you not confide in me? What are these secrets between you two? Do not deny it, Emile, there are secrets between you."
The Professor denied nothing. He looked down, and seemed extremely oppressed and uncomfortable. His wife darted a severe, rebuking glance at him.