The old lady patted her, full of solicitude "No cold, I hope--no fever?" she asked.
Hertha breathed more freely. Ah! she didn't know.
"Let me feel your pulse," grandmamma commanded.
Hertha wriggled away.
"I like that!" she thought. "To-day, of all days, to have my pulse felt! Next I shall be asked to put out my tongue!" And she barricaded herself behind the table.
Grandmamma made the best of a bad matter, but she was not going to let her off without a lecture. Hertha, with quivering lips and wandering eyes, let the mild outburst pass over her head. Her gaze was directed to Leo's empty coffee-cup, her ear towards the courtyard.
And then suddenly the hound gave a howl of delight. Ringing, clattering footsteps came echoing along the corridor.
Hertha felt her blood ebb from her veins, and as if she must, at his glance, fall dead from shame. She dashed the roses down on the table, and tore at hot speed into the garden; and grandmamma, whose lecture was in full swing, looked after her in consternation. There was a nook in the yew hedge which ran out from the castle into the garden where, unseen, it was possible to hear and see all that passed on the terrace. There she quickly concealed herself.
He stood framed in the glass door, heated and dusty, with a deep frown on his brow which terrified Hertha.
Grandmamma gently reproached him. How was it that it was nearly noon and nothing had been seen of him before?