"And you, Uncle Bertram, should not tolerate it either--you, least of all. You cannot lie, cannot play the hypocrite. Let others do so; it befits you ill, it is unworthy of you. I cannot, will not see anything unworthy in you. I will have one human being whom I can believe and trust unconditionally. This one you are, you must be; is it not so, Uncle Bertram?"
She held out her hand to him across the table. He could not refuse it, and yet, as he touched those slender fingers, something thrilled through him as though he had been guilty of some act of desecration.
"You think me too good, too great," he said. "I can only reply, I will try to deserve your confidence."
"And I will give you an opportunity at once. I am not contented with myself either. I too--for the sake of others, to please papa and mamma who seemed greatly to wish it--have been kinder to somebody than at heart I felt justified in being, and I must henceforth change my conduct towards him."
"He has proposed to you?"
"Proposed? To me?"
A scornful smile played round her exquisite lips.
"I beg your pardon, dear Erna. He was so remarkably assiduous in his attentions to you yesterday. You admit yourself that you have been kinder to him than now you care to have been, and he strikes me as being one of those men who grasp the whole hand the moment you hold out your little finger to them. And moreover, I know that your parents encourage him much, and he is surely aware of that too. Thus my question was not wholly groundless; still, I beg your pardon."
"And indeed you need it in this case, Uncle Bertram. Or, have I perhaps behaved so childishly that even a clever man like you could deem such a thing possible?"
"No, no; pray, try to forget what I said without thinking, or take it for a proof that I was right, that I am neither so good nor so clever as you thought."