There was a scraping of chairs, then:
"Henry, I tell you he does look like Albert Downs—the living image!" This from the woman, sotto voce.
"Sh! mother! What would Albert Downs be doing in Berlin?" The daughter was reproving.
"Well, Kitty, they say curiosity once killed a cat; but I'm going to have a better look. I'd swear——"
Woodhouse was slightly startled when he saw the woman from America utilize the clumsy subterfuge of a dropped handkerchief to step into a position whence she could look at his face squarely. Also he was annoyed. He did not care to be stared at under any circumstances, particularly at this time. The alert and curious lady saw his flush of annoyance, flushed herself, and joined her husband and daughter.
"Well, if I didn't know Albert Downs had a livery business which he couldn't well leave," floated back the hoarse whisper, "I'd say that was him setting right there in that chair."
"Come, mother, bedtime and after—in Berlin," was the old gentleman's admonition. Woodhouse heard their retreating footsteps, and laughed in spite of his temporary chagrin at the American woman's curiosity. He was just reaching for his watch a second time when a quick step sounded on the gravel behind him. He turned. A woman of ripe beauty had her hand outstretched in welcome. She was the one Billy Capper had called Louisa. Captain Woodhouse rose and grasped her hand warmly.
"Ah! So good of you! I've been expecting——"
"Yes, I'm late. I could not come earlier." Salutation and answer were in German, fluently spoken on the part of each.
"You will not be followed?" Woodhouse asked, assisting her to sit. She laughed shortly.