I turned away in a little offended pride. Her familiarity annoyed me. What if she were a thousand times cleverer, wittier, better read than I? I did not like her. A shade crossed her face.
“Is it that you are thoroughly unamiable?” said she, in a voice which had reproach in it, “or are all English girls so touchy that they receive a compliment upon their good looks as if it were an offense?”
“I wish you would not talk of my ‘good looks’ as if I were a dog or a horse!” said I, angrily. “I hate to be flattered. I am no beauty, and do not wish to be treated as if I were.”
“Do you always hate it?” said she from the window, whither she had turned. “Ach! there goes Herr Courvoisier!”
The name startled me like a sudden report. I made an eager step forward before I had time to recollect myself—then stopped.
“He is not out of sight yet,” said she, with a curious look, “if you wish to see him.”
I sat down and made no answer. What prompted her to talk in such a manner? Was it a mere coincidence?
“He is a handsome fellow, nicht wahr?” she said, still watching me, while I thought Frau Steinmann never would manage to arrange her cap in the style that pleased her. “But a Taugenichts all the same,” pursued Anna as I did not speak. “Don’t you think so?” she added.
“A Taugenichts—I don’t know what that is.”
“What you call a good-for-nothing.”