"No; I know," he said, as though he had divined her thoughts. Nora caught a glance of his face in the long mirror opposite, and was struck for a moment by the bitterness of his expression. He looked less indifferent than usual—almost disturbed.
"They say that if you give the devil a finger he takes the whole hand," he went on after a pause, and in a lighter tone. "Having obtained your forgiveness, I now come with a request, gnädige Frau."
"May it be as easily granted!" Nora answered, laughing.
"At any rate, it is not for myself this time. My sister-in-law, Frau Commerzienrat Bauer, has asked me to be a suppliant on her behalf. Perhaps you remember her? You met her at the Charity Bazaar last month."
Nora shook her head.
"I am a disgrace—I forget people's names so quickly," she said apologetically.
"My relation has a better memory—especially for those to whom she has taken a fancy. She has a special weakness for English people, and it seems she is most anxious to meet you again. She has, of course, quite another circle of acquaintances, and so is driven to the expedient of calling on you herself. Has she your permission?"
Something in the request or in the manner of its making jarred on Nora. She hesitated, not knowing why, and Bauer went on quickly:
"I know this form of proceeding is unusual, gnädige Frau, and I confess I should not have undertaken to be my sister-in-law's messenger if it had not been that I had heard you were expecting your brother. The two things do not seem to have much connection, but it struck me that it might interest him—and perhaps you—to see something of another side of German life. There is another side, gnädige Frau."
"I am very content with the one I know," Nora answered. She was conscious of a rising repugnance—and a rising curiosity.