The next day it rained, and as Hertha had no closed carriage at her command, she stayed at home. Two more wet days followed, in which Hertha's devouring curiosity had to rest unsatisfied. But when a fourth dawned hopelessly grey, with rain pattering on the windows, she resolved to pocket her pride and petition Leo, through the medium of grandmamma, for horse and carriage.
"Why these roundabout dealings, Hertha?" he said, as they met at table. "I should have thought you knew that the conveyances are as much at your disposal as any one else's."
At two o'clock that afternoon the carriage stood at the door, and she drove off in pouring rain.
She was lucky in the hour she had chosen. Meta's husband had gone into Münsterberg, and mamma-in-law, who made the young couple happy by her presence in the house, was suffering from a bilious attack.
So she found Meta alone in her bedroom, with its heavy satin curtains, its dainty muslin covers, its comfortable low sofa, and lamp with emerald-green shade, and all the thousand and one pretty knickknacks, and mysterious articles which betoken a recently accomplished matrimonial union, and seem to invite a cosy confidential chat.
Still, the reception accorded Hertha by her old chum was not altogether encouraging. She rose languidly from the rocking-chair in which she had been reclining, looking very delicate and fragile, and with a faint smile extended a cold thin hand, on which the wide hoop of her wedding-ring seemed conspicuously to inspire respect. A book bound in brown and gold slid from her lap on to the floor.
Hertha took in at a first glance how much Meta's young fresh-coloured little face had changed during the months since her marriage. Her nose had sharpened, and her full lips were pale, and the different way in which her hair was dressed made her quite a stranger.
"I am delighted to see you," she said, just as one dowager receives another when she pays her a formal visit. In fact, Hertha felt intimidated.
"What were you reading?" she asked, picking up the brown-and-gold book from the floor.
The little wife blushed hotly, and hurriedly took the book out of her hand, but not before Hertha had deciphered the gold letters on the back: "Ammon's Duties of Mothers."