“I shouldn’t suppose you cared to know,” said he, rather sulkily. “And it’s all very fine to laugh, but let me see the man who even smiles at her—he shall learn who I am.”
We assured him, with the strongest expressions that we could call to our aid, that it was the very idea of his being engaged that made us laugh—not any disrespect, and begged his pardon again. By degrees he relented. We still urgently demanded the name of the lady.
“Als verlobte empfehlen sich Karl Linders and—who else?” asked Eugen.
“Als verlobte empfehlen sich[D] Karl Linders and Clara Steinmann,” said Karl, with much dignity.
“Clara Steinmann,” we repeated, in tones of respectful gravity, “I never heard of her.”
“No, she keeps herself rather reserved and select,” said Karl, impressively. “She lives with her aunt in the Alléestrasse, at number 39.”
“Number 39!” we both ejaculated.
“Exactly so! What have you to say against it?” demanded Herr Linders, glaring round upon us with an awful majesty.
“Nothing—oh, less than nothing. But I know now where you mean. It is a boarding-house, nicht wahr?”
He nodded sedately.