“Really, oh—I—I cannot yet; forgive me, but really—later, later.”
“All right, later; I will be patient—as long as I may be,” he said, and his calm tone brought a little peace to her whirling brain. No; refuse she could no longer—but still, she could not yet decide.
And she could not help admiring his quiet tact, as he conversed with her on subjects in which neither of them took the slightest interest. That simple, quiet tact constituted his greatest charm; he was so entirely himself that it seemed as if his manly frankness concealed nothing that the eyes of the world might not see. Whilst he spoke, he attempted to cajole neither himself nor her that there was anything interesting in the conversation; he seemed only to continue it because he liked to be near her and speak with her. It was so evident in the full tones of his voice. His thoughts were not in his conversation, and he made no attempt to conceal the fact. And for the first time she felt something like pity for him; she felt that she was cruel, and that he was suffering, and this feeling again aroused within her that melting tenderness which she could not understand. Refreshments were handed round.
“Will you take a lemonade, madam, and a cake?” Eline asked Madame van Raat, who was sitting somewhat deserted on the sofa, now and again smiling at the joyous group of young people who were engaged telling each other’s fortunes.
“Wait a moment,” she continued to Otto; “the old lady is all alone; I shall go and keep her company.”
He gave her a friendly nod and went to listen to Paul’s horoscope, which Ange was drawing for him.
Eline took a lemonade, laid a cake on a dish, and offered it to Madame van Raat. Then she sat down next to the old lady, and took her hand.
Madame van Raat, however, never touched the refreshments, but looked Eline straight in the eyes. [[147]]
“Well, how is it?” she asked.
In her present mood of melting tenderness, Eline could not feel annoyed at the indiscreet question. And she answered, very softly, almost inaudibly—