“I hope I find you vell dis morning, ladies,” was his simple greeting.
“HERR DEICHENBERG.”
“Dorothy’s Triumph.”
“Indeed, yes, Herr,” Aunt Betty responded, offering her hand. “I am glad to see you again. This is the young lady of whom I spoke—my great-niece, Dorothy Calvert.”
“H’m! Yes, yes,” said the Herr, looking the girl over with kindly eye, as she extended her hand. Then, with Dorothy’s hand clasped tightly in his own, he went on: “I hope, Miss Dorothy, dat ve vill get on very good togedder. I haf no reason to believe ve vill not, an’ perhaps—who knows?—perhaps ve shall surprise in you dat spark of genius vhich vill make you de best known little lady in your great American land.”
“Oh, I hope so, Herr Deichenberg—I hope so,” was the girl’s fervent reply. “It has been my greatest ambition.”
The Herr turned to Aunt Betty:
“She iss in earnest, Madame; I can see it at a glance, and it iss half de battle. Too many things are lost in dis world t’rough a lack of confidence, and de lack of a faculty for getting out de best dat iss in one.”
The Herr sank into one of the deep, comfortable rockers on the gallery, near Aunt Betty, as Dorothy, at a signal from her aunt, excused herself and went in search of Dinah, with the result that mint lemonade, cool and tempting, was soon served to the trio outside, greatly to the delight of the Herr professor, who sipped his drink with great satisfaction. After a few moments he became quite talkative, and said, after casting many admiring glances over the grounds of old Bellvieu: