George regarded his sister with amusement. "Ha, ha, one day you'll find the flame of love, and quite right too. By the way, how old are you—nineteen or twenty?"
"I am twenty-one now."
"And has no one seriously paid court to you?"
She burst out laughing. "Oh, often, like your comrade here to-day, but I did not care about any of them, for, oddly enough, it was always officers who paid me attention, always lieutenants, and, unfortunately, the only lieutenant whom I love I cannot get."
George looked at her wonderingly. "Why not?"
"Because he happens to be my brother."
Laughingly George drew his sister to him. "Come here, dear, and give me a kiss." Then he went on. "But seriously, Elsa, you have grown much more beautiful lately." He was delighted with his sister's looks: she had a slim figure, a proud bearing, beautiful eyes, and her whole appearance was charming.
"Do you know that you are very like Hildegarde in many ways?" he said, suddenly.
It was the first time that he had actually said her name to his people, and now that he had done it he felt shy and was quite embarrassed at his sister's glance.
Their father had meanwhile taken up the evening paper, now he laid it aside. "Go on, George, you yourself began it, you know. You have so often written to us about your Hildegarde. Who and what is she, and how do you stand with regard to her?"