“But it must,” persisted Otto.
“Of course. My dear boy, have you still your old liking for business? I beg of you, do not begin talking of it just yet.”
Otto smiled.
“Come, lean your head on my lap as you used to do. Wait a minute; you will spoil my dress.”
She spread out a flimsy piece of cambric which could have protected nothing, and sat softly stroking the dark hair from his face, as he lay on the rug.
“You have come back heart-whole?” she said, presently, but there was not much interrogation in her voice.
“Yes, mother.” The tone excluded doubt; not that any one ever thought of doubting Otto.
“Gerard was always prophesying that you would bring back a ‘nut-brown’ wife.”
The words seemed to strike home strangely to Otto, like an echo. “Gerard appears very lively,” he said. “He always had exceedingly high spirits as a boy. But, of course, I hardly know him.”
“He is brightness itself,” said the Baroness. “He is like a constant sunbeam. Dear boy, I hope he will make an advantageous settlement. And you too, dear Otto, I wish you would marry and”—her voice grew tremulous—“stay at home.”