‘See, liebe Trockenau, his majesty is coming,’ said a German lady of the party, and with a quick movement the group was divided.
The German ladies, being both of rank, and geborenen of distinguished families, and Hans Lemde, stood stock-still by the roadside, waiting until the emperor should pass, to make their reverences and receive a recognition; while the English girls, Jerome Wellfield, and a German man who was not a von, strolled off down a side-walk. Sara Ford and Jerome Wellfield insensibly, but as if by general consent, dropped a little behind. The underlying sparkle of malice and mockery had died out of the young lady’s eyes, as she turned to her companion, saying:
‘I am glad your father is better, Mr. Wellfield, for I had heard that he was very ill.’
‘You are very kind. He really does seem better to-night, and I am in hopes that the attack will pass over, as all the others have done, though it has certainly been a severer one than usual.’
‘You look as if you had been watching and sitting up—have you?’
‘Oh, a mere trifle. My father gets nervous, and, as you may easily imagine, a large hotel is not the most comfortable place in which to be taken ill.’
‘No, indeed.’
‘Avice insisted on my coming out to-night. And you, Miss Ford, are you enjoying yourself at Count Trockenau’s?’
‘Very much. The change from the hot, dusty town, and from my paint-smelling atelier is really delightful. Everything up at Trockenau is so fresh, and the society is very amusing—yes, really exceedingly amusing.’
Sara laughed as she spoke—a pleasant, round, though not loud laugh.