“On one condition,” said the young girl, playfully.
“It is granted at once,” replied the young man. “Now, what is it?”
“That you will presently accompany me in ‘Fleurs d’oranger.’ You know Ludovic’s charming duet, do you not?”
Van Nerekool made a wry face and slightly raised his hands in a deprecating manner.
“Oh,” continued the young girl, laughing. “You may look as solemn as a judge on the bench; but I won’t let you off. The ‘Fleurs d’oranger’ or no tea—there you have my ultimatum. My ultimatum, that is what they call the last word before a declaration of war, don’t they, colonel?”
“Quite right, Miss Anna,” said the old soldier, who, wholly engrossed in his cards, had heard nothing but the last words of the question.
“An ultimatum,” cried van Nerekool, “a declaration of war? Who would be so mad as to declare war against you? No, no; sooner than be suspected of that I would play ‘Fleurs d’oranger’ the whole evening!”
“There you go to the other extreme,” laughed Anna, “that is always the way with you lawyers, at least papa says so; you are always finding paragons of perfection or else monsters of iniquity.”
“No, no, we are not so bad as all that, Miss Anna!” said van Nerekool. “But will you allow me for a few moments to watch your mother’s play and take a lesson from her?”
“Do so, by all means,” said Anna, “meanwhile I must go and pour out the tea and see to the other refreshments, and when I have done I mean to play a sonata of Beethoven.”