"As you like," said Fink. "At all events, you have learned to dance, and to hold your hat like a gentleman."
Before dinner, the merchant said to his sister, "You were right, Wohlfart had nothing to do with it; it was all Fink's invention."
"I knew it," cried Sabine, drawing out her needle vehemently.
Anton worked hard all day, said little, and, when evening came, went up stairs to dress, like a man whose mind is made up.
If Fink could have seen into his heart, he would have been shocked at the sorrow there. It was not alone wounded self-love, mortification, shame, but the anguish of bidding farewell to Lenore. As it was, "I say," cried he, "I have a notion that you take this nonsense a great deal too tragically. Are you angry with me?" holding out his hand.
"Neither with you nor with any one else; but let me for once act for myself."
"What are you going to do?"
"Do not ask me. I have but one thing to do."
"So be it, then," was the good-humored reply; "but do not forget that any thing like a scene would only amuse those people."
"Trust me," said Anton, "I shall make none."