“Hear! hear!” murmured Karl, screwing up his violoncello and smiling furtively.
“Oh, I am afraid I hindered rather than helped,” said I, “but it is very beautiful.”
“But not like spring, is it?” asked Friedhelm.
“Well, I think it is.”
“There! I knew she would declare for me,” said Courvoisier, calmly, at which Karl Linders looked up in some astonishment.
“Shall we try this ‘Traumerei,’ Miss Wedderburn, if you are not too tired?”
I turned willingly to the piano, and we played Schumann’s little “Dreams.”
“Ah,” said Eugen, with a deep sigh (and his face had grown sad), “isn’t that the essence of sweetness and poetry? Here’s another which is lovely. ‘Noch ein Paar,’ nicht wahr?”
“And it will be ‘noch ein Paar’ until our fingers drop off,” scolded Friedhelm, who seemed, however, very willing to await that consummation. We went through many of the Kinderscenen and some of the Kreissleriana, and just as we finished a sweet little “Bittendes Kind,” the twilight grew almost into darkness, and Courvoisier laid his violin down.