"I do not like Italians," he said. "They are light, frivolous; they are not solid like the Germans."
"The Professor is solid enough," said Mrs. Wyman, with a titter.
This could not be gainsaid, for the learned German certainly tipped the scales at over two hundred pounds. There was a strong suspicion that he imbibed copious potations of the liquid so dear to his countrymen, though he never drank it at table.
"The poor man is jealous," continued Mrs. Wyman, making the remark in a low tone for my private hearing. "He thinks we won't notice him after the Count comes."
This might be true, for Prof. Poppendorf was our star boarder. He was not supposed to be rich, but his title of Professor and his ancient intimacy with Bismarck, gave him a prestige among us all. When he first came Mrs. Wyman tried her blandishments upon him, but with indifferent success. Not that the grizzled veteran was too old for the tender passion, as we were soon to learn, but because he did not appreciate the coquettish ways of the widow, whom he considered of too light calibre for his taste.
"Don't you think the Professor very homely?" asked Mrs. Wyman, in a confidential whisper.
"He certainly is not handsome," I answered. "Neither is Bismarck."
"True, but he is a great man."
"We should respect him on account of his learning—probably much more so than the Count whom we are expecting."
"That may be. We don't expect noblemen to be learned," said the widow, disdainfully.