“Well, then, I hate to be wrapped in cotton wool; I want to breathe. If I come to grief, it's my own affair; nobody need mind.”
Mr. Treffry's fingers sought his beard. “Ah! yes. Just so!”
Christian sank on her knees.
“Oh! Uncle! I'm a selfish beast!”
Mr. Treffry laid his hand against her cheek. “I think I could do with a nap,” he said.
Swallowing a lump in her throat, she stole out of the room.
XX
By a stroke of Fate Mr. Treffry's return to Villa Rubein befell at the psychological moment when Herr Paul, in a suit of rather too bright blue, was starting for Vienna.
As soon as he saw the carriage appear between the poplars he became as pensive as a boy caught in the act of stealing cherries. Pitching his hatbox to Fritz, he recovered himself, however, in time to whistle while Mr. Treffry was being assisted into the house. Having forgotten his anger, he was only anxious now to smooth out its after effects; in the glances he cast at Christian and his brother-in-law there was a kind of shamed entreaty which seemed to say: “For goodness' sake, don't worry me about that business again! Nothing's come of it, you see!”