Mrs. Menzies-Legh (now a Gräfin at the least): “Will not the Herr Pastor seat himself?”
Pastor, with every appearance of being overcome: “Oh, a thousand thanks—the gracious lady is too good—if I may really be permitted to sit—an instant—after so shamelessly——”
He is waved by Menzies-Legh, as he still hesitates, with stately courtesy, into the third chair, into which he sinks, but not until he sees the Herrschaften are in the act of sinking too.
Mrs. Menzies-Legh, gracefully explaining Menzies-Legh’s greenness and silence: “My husband is not very well to-day.”
Pastor, with every sign of liveliest interest and compassion: “Oh, that indeed makes me sorry. Has the Herr Graf then perhaps been over-exerting himself? Has he perhaps contracted a chill? Is he suffering from a depressed stomach?”
Menzies-Legh, with a stately wave of the hand, naturally unwilling to reveal the real reason why he is so green: “No—no.”
Mrs. Menzies-Legh: “I was about to refresh him a little with milk. May I be permitted to pour out a droplet for the Herr Pastor?”
Pastor, again bowing profusely: “The gracious one is much too good. I could not think of permitting myself——”
Mrs. Menzies-Legh: “But I beg you, Herr Pastor—will you not drink just a little?”
Pastor: “The gracious one is really very amiable. I would not, however, be the means of depriving the Herrschaften of their——”