"My husband."
"Oh, yes. But how absurd that sounds!"
"What does?"
"Your having a husband."
"I don't see how you can help having a husband if you're a wife."
"No. It's inevitable. But it's—quaint. That you should be anybody's wife, let alone a pastor's. Here in Kökensee."
She got up impulsively. "Come and see him," she said. "You wouldn't last time. Come now. Let me make tea for you. Let me have the pride of making tea for you."
"But not this minute!" he begged, as she stood over him holding out her hand to pull him up.
"Yes, yes. He's in now. He'll be out in his fields later. He'll be frightfully pleased. We'll tell him about the picture. Oh, but you did mean it, didn't you?" she added, suddenly anxious.
He got up reluctantly and grumbling: "I don't want to see Robert. Why should I see Robert? I don't believe I'm going to like Robert," he muttered, looking down at her from what seemed an immense height. "Of course I mean it about the picture," he added in a different voice, quick and interested. "It'll be a companion portrait to your sister's."