"But, pardon me, dear aunt. You have a marvellous talent for seeing everything in dark colors. It was a childish notion of the little Breesen; she wanted to annoy me--voilà tout. I cannot imagine that Helen would prefer a schoolmaster to myself. Why, it would be ridiculous, horriblement ridiculous," said the ex-lieutenant, and looked with pleasure at his patent boots.
"And suppose Helen should not forget herself so far--or suppose it should be only a child's caprice, to vanish with the next moment, are you so well pleased with her manner towards yourself?"
"She will change her manner when she finds I am in earnest."
"And if she does not change it?"
"Well, then, we are, heaven be thanked, not married yet," said Felix, lost in admiration of his boot, and hardly knowing what he was saying.
"Then we had better break off our conversation," said the baroness, rising; "if you can speak with such indifference of the failure of a plan which, I think, we both of us look upon with no small interest, it is hardly worth while to discuss it any further."
"But, my dearest aunt," said Felix, starting up and kissing the baroness' hand, "you are really in an awful humor today. How can you be so offended at a word, which did not mean anything at all, 'pon honor? It just slipped out so. You know my tongue often says things for which I should by no means like to be held responsible. Sit down again, pray! You were saying that Helen's manner towards me might not change. My solemn answer is: I shall many her nevertheless. Those things come all right when one sits in the carriage and is off for the wedding tour; at first tears, then sobs, then pouting, then a little smile, and----"
"Enough," said the baroness, "you are an incorrigible wag, who----"
"Succeeds wherever he wants to succeed. And therefore let your scruples go, and give us our coffee or it will be cold."
"Not quite so fast," said the baroness; "what would you advise now?"