Güntz knocked the ash off the end of his cigar, and reassured him; "No, certainly not, old chap. If you did I should not hesitate to tell you."
So it came about that every Sunday at mid-day, and on every Wednesday evening, Reimers found himself at the dinner-table of the snug little villa, Waisenhaus Strasse No. 57.
Frau Kläre Güntz, a little lady with a fresh, pretty face, and bright, clever eyes, called these her "at home" days.
"You see, Fatty," she said to her husband, "I am trying to follow in the footsteps of Frau Lischke."
She lifted her eyebrows and went on, sarcastically: "When you have only been a governess you have to be so very careful. And it's difficult! Sometimes I have my doubts whether I shall ever attain to the standard of Gustava Lischke."
She sighed comically and nodded at her husband.
He threatened her: "Mind what you are about, Kläre. I will not permit disrespect. Gustava!" he added, chuckling, and turned to Reimers: "We were neighbours as children," he explained, "Gustava and I; but now she denies the acquaintance. My old father--God bless him!--was a builder. Gustava's papa dealt in butter and eggs; a worthy, most worthy man. But now, of course, according to the new fashion, they must pile it on, and Gustava's papa was a merchant."
He laughed, and then went on, more bitterly: "If you weren't present, Kläre, I should use a strong expression to set the whole dirty pack in their true light. Gustava is unhappily only a symptom, and one among many. And I tell you, Kläre, if you were to behave like her, then--then----"
"Well, what terrible thing would befall me?" asked the young wife.
Güntz checked himself. He smiled slily. "Why, then I should make use of the right which the good old law allows me, and administer corporal punishment."