She was dismayed. This was not to her taste at all! "But father—"
The old German in his worry lest the life that she must lead as the companion to the rich New Yorker might induce her to let down the barriers of the exclusiveness which that which he could not, at present name, implanted in his very soul, looked sternly at her. He wished, now, to end the talk of it. "That, Anna," he said gravely, "that is all."
"But you tell me you will pick him out and bring him to me! Must he not love me?"
This again made him forget a little. It brought back other vivid memories of those bygone days when, young and ardent, he had gone to this girl's mother with his heart aflame.
"Love you? Yah; of course he loves you. You think love is a game of solitaire? But—he will love you, liebschen. To fall very much in love with you he has only once to see you. But, Anna, it is not with women as it is with men. You must conceal your love, until he speaks."
She smiled. "And, father, what shall I do then?"
"Do when he speaks? When comes the right man and tells you that he loves you, asking you to be his wife, mine Anna, you must answer: 'For this so great honor, sir, I thank you, and I give you in return my heart and hand.'"
Ah, the visions in his mind as he said this, of the far-off German village, of the dainty maiden standing there before a gallant youthful gentleman, trying to be as formal, when she placed her hand in his, as lifelong training in the stiff formalities of life had made him, in his embarrassment, while he told his great devotion to her! Thinking back along the path of years that led to that bright garden, how Herr Kreutzer smiled!
"How beautiful that sounds!" said Anna, softly. "'For this so great honor, I thank you, and I give you in return my heart and hand.'"
It brought the old flute-player back from the far garden.