“Thank you,” said Otto, with his reflective reserve. But the fervor of his tone quite satisfied Aunt Louisa.
“Yes,” she went on, preparing to hurry away. “The estate must be kept together. I insist upon that. For I can’t have other people intruding upon my Bilberry Walk, and that would be the first to go. But, Otto, you must let me have some interest, or else I shouldn’t be able to pay you my ‘keep.’” Thereupon the Freule departed, fluttered with the consciousness of a heroic atmosphere all round and but little discomfort to herself. She had, indeed, behaved bravely, for scraping was the sole diversion of her life, and she imagined somehow that a mortgage at four per cent. was a very great sacrifice indeed. In common with many people who greatly admire great deeds, she liked to do her own great deeds small.
At any rate, Otto felt immensely relieved for the moment by the certainty that the money would be forthcoming. He went in search of Ursula, whom he found playing on a sofa with his father’s great smooth St. Bernard. Ursula’s opening days were long in this new home of which she had become the mistress. Everything was as yet in the listless uncertainty of a not-disorganized transition. The Dowager Baroness had nowise resigned the keys, while occupying herself with nothing in the privacy of her own bereavement.
“Dearest,” said Otto, “why did you not tell me about Helena and Gerard?”
Ursula blushed.
“Because it was a secret,” she replied, hotly. “I told nobody, Otto.”
“Nobody?”
“Nobody but my father. Has Gerard spoken of it? How much has he told you?”
She looked at him anxiously, scarlet with the soilure of Gerard’s sin.