“Oh, not at court. You forget I cannot go to court. We met at a rout at the Red Palace. Have you forgotten?”
“Of course not. Only these distinctions are beyond me. When do you break all our hearts by leaving Munich?”
“Fritz puts me off! But I shall get him away almost as soon as I planned. It is time!” The last sentence was delivered as from the mouth of a toy cannon, and he jumped.
“What is it?”
“Do you not see that I am ostracized? Did you not notice that I was driven to seat myself apart—like a pariah?”
“Well, you are here”—he answered vaguely. “It is not so easy—”
“You forget that Fritz is one of the Nachmeister’s oldest and closest friends—a prehistoric lover, no doubt. No matter how much she may hate me, she will never insult him. But when he dies—”
“Oh, well, you do not like Munich and would live elsewhere in any case.” Ordham’s supper was turning to gall. Why would this woman always talk about herself?
“But the present? And if I should not be able to persuade Fritz to go, after all? Like all old men he is full of whims. It will be a martyrdom—I may as well tell you the cause. I learned it to-day. All your friends and admirers of my own dear sex have suddenly discovered that you see more of me than of any one else and have formed the one conclusion that can tickle the Munich palate. They have made up their minds that as yet you are not seriously in love with me, however, and have determined to get me out of the way before I have worked your ruin.”
“Ruin?”