“And she calls that an impersonal question! But I am quite ready to answer, liebes Fräulein, for my man informed me yesterday. I possess exactly two hundred and eighty-four.”
“Two hundred and eighty-four neckties!” shrieked Fräulein Lutz. “It is impossible! But impossible!”
“Only until this afternoon. Then I shall possess two hundred and eighty-six. And next week I expect a box from London—”
“But it is incredible. Why, I have taught counts, barons, princes for thirty years, and I do not believe that one of them possessed more than ten or twelve neckties at a time.”
“O—h—h—h—”
“Don’t dare to turn up your English nose at counts and princes—princes of the blood, let me explain. Ach Gott! Act Gott!” She looked him over. “And socks, handkerchiefs—all match! Do you assert that you have two hundred and eighty-four handkerchiefs, shirts, pairs of socks? Answer in idiomatic German or I shall make you write it.”
She did make him write it. Once more he lay back exhausted. Taking out a handkerchief, he sniffed at it, then waved it gently.
“And scent!” She almost choked. “I have noticed it before, but was too polite to make remarks. To-day I relieve my mind. Scent is obnoxious, demoralizing, intended only for idle fine ladies and those others whom we never mention. Why do you use scent? Mind your idiom.”
He sank into a posture almost reclining; he half closed his eyes and half opened his mouth. He looked very naughty indeed. “Why?” he murmured dreamily. “Because I find in perfumes one of the exquisite sensations of life. I should like to lie in bed all day while some one sprinkled the crude air with distilled odours—and dream—ah!”
“I’ve a mind to box your ears!” she cried furiously and with a very red face. “And your German is as execrable as your sentiments.”