“And the Horst!” she cried, looking at him for the first time. The despair in her eyes cut straight to his soul. “You have not even thought of that! And you hardly know the girl. The old house—the old home—you have not even thought of that!”
“I have thought of it,” he answered, sternly, returning to his place on the hearth. “It is not gone yet. I will work and make money. Father may still live twenty years.”
But she did not heed him. “Only a good-looking face!” she said. “Only half a dozen glimpses of a good-looking face and—pfst!” She snapped her fingers. “Does your father know?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he answered. “I came to you first. I had hoped that you—”
“Would join with the happy pair in imploring his blessing. Did I not say rightly, Otto, that a certain amount of mutual understanding is essential to the preservation of natural ties! That you should succeed in making a philosopher of such a crack-brained creature as I am! I hear your father’s step in the entrance-hall. The poor fellow is whistling! Never mind, it can’t be helped. Call him in.” Otto obeyed.
“Well, what is it, my dear?” asked the Baron, entering. “Are you still enjoying your new-found son?”
“Yes, that is it,” replied the old lady. “Exactly. My new-found son still prepares me fresh surprises. Otto, tell your father to-day’s.”
“I have engaged myself,” said Otto, steadying his voice, “to Juffrouw Ursula Rovers.”
The Baron’s thin cheek flushed. He resumed the tune he had been whistling, and carefully finished it. Then he said, “I suppose that is quite definite?”