But when he took her hand and smiled, something slipt into his face—something affectionate and quiet, empty and without guile or suspicion.
Where was she accustomed to this smile? To be sure; in Amanda. An indubitable inheritance.
And for the sake of this empty smile an affectionate feeling for this stranger came into her heart. She helped him take off his overcoat. He wore a pair of great, red-lined rubber goloshes, typical of the country doctor. He took these off carefully and placed them with their toes toward the wall.
"He has grown too pedantic," she thought.
Then all three entered the room. When Toni saw him in the light of day she missed the blue white golden scarf at once. But it would have looked comical over his rounded paunch. And yet its absence disillusioned her. It seemed to her as if her friend had doffed the halo for whose sake she had served him and looked up to him so long.
As for him, he regarded her with unconcealed admiration.
"Well, well, one can be proud of you!" he said, sighing deeply, and it almost seemed as if with this sigh a long and heavy burden lifted itself from his soul.
"He was afraid he might have to be ashamed of me," she thought rebelliously. As if to protect herself she pushed the little girl between them.
"Here is Amanda," she said, and added with a bitter smile: "Perhaps you remember."
But he didn't even suspect the nature of that which she wanted to make him feel.