“Pooh!” She shrugged her shoulders and laughed. “I’ll tell her you forced your way in here and tried to assault me. Who will she believe?—with your bitten hand. You go and find your Schäfers.”
A sensation of glorious, intoxicating happiness flooded Viola. She rolled her eyes at him. “If you don’t go away this moment I’ll bite you again,” she said, and the absurd words started her laughing. Even when the door was closed, hearing him descending the stairs, she laughed, and danced about the room.
What a morning! Oh, chalk it up. That was her first fight, and she’d won—she’d conquered that beast—all by herself. Her hands were still trembling. She pulled up the sleeve of her gown—great red marks on her arms. “My ribs will be blue. I’ll be blue all over,” she reflected. “If only that beloved Casimir could have seen us.” And the feeling of rage and disgust against Casimir had totally disappeared. How could the poor darling help not having any money? It was her fault as much as his, and he, just like her, was apart from the world, fighting it, just as she had done. If only three o’clock would come. She saw herself running towards him and putting her arms round his neck. “My blessed one! Of course we are bound to win. Do you love me still? Oh, I have been horrible lately.”
A BLAZE
“Max, you silly devil, you’ll break your neck if you go careering down the slide that way. Drop it, and come to the Club House with me and get some coffee.”
“I’ve had enough for to-day. I’m damp all through. There, give us a cigarette, Victor, old man. When are you going home?”
“Not for another hour. It’s fine this afternoon, and I’m getting into decent shape. Look out, get off the track; here comes Fräulein Winkel. Damned elegant the way she manages her sleigh!”
“I’m cold all through. That’s the worst of this place—the mists—it’s a damp cold. Here, Forman, look after this sleigh—and stick it somewhere so that I can get it without looking through a hundred and fifty others to-morrow morning.”
They sat down at a small round table near the stove and ordered coffee. Victor sprawled in his chair, patting his little brown dog Bobo and looking, half laughingly, at Max.
“What’s the matter, my dear? Isn’t the world being nice and pretty?”