Five minutes later, when her husband returned from his host's duties, he found her in floods of angry tears.
"Mein liebes Kind!" he exclaimed in despair. "Whatever is the matter? Has anything serious happened?"
"I have been insulted in my own house!" the little woman retorted, dabbing her eyes fiercely with a minute pocket-handkerchief. "I should hope that was serious enough!"
"Insulted! By whom?"
"By that—that English creature!"
"Do you mean Frau von Arnim? But, Menkenkind!—she is your best friend!"
"She is nothing of the kind. She is a conceited, pretentious, arrogant—oh! I don't know what, but I know I hate her with all my heart. And as for that brother——" With a determined effort she swallowed down a torrent of adjectives and sobbed huskily instead.
Seleneck seated himself on the arm of her chair and patted her on the shoulder.
"Perhaps one day you'll tell me all about it," he suggested, and waited patiently for results.
After a moment, the desire to tell her story overcame the desire to have a good cry, and Frau von Seleneck, leaning her head against her husband and squeezing his hand violently at moments of more than usual indignation, related the incidents which had led up to this climax. It appeared, in the first place, that Nora had arrived at an entirely inopportune moment.