Be assured I was punctual when at last Wednesday came. I remember, as I mounted the staircase that led to their abode, an absurd fear beset me. What if they had moved away?
What if I should not find her after this interminable week of waiting? My hand shook as I pulled the bell-knob. I was nerving myself for the worst in the interval that elapsed before the door was opened.—The door was opened by Veronika herself!
“Ah, good-evening. We were expecting you,” she said.
I stammered a response. My temples were throbbing madly.
Veronika led me into the dining-room. They were still at table. I began to apologize. Tikulski stopped me.
“You have come just at the proper moment,” he cried. “You shall now have occasion to confess that my niece is as good a cook as she is a player.”
“But I have dined,” I protested.
“But you can make room for one morsel more—for a mere taste of pudding.”
Veronika, with infinite grace, was moving about the room, getting a plate and napkin. Then with her own hands she helped me to the pudding.
“Doesn’t that flavor do her credit?” cried Tikulski. “It is a melody materialized, is it not?”