"Yes, dear Frau Carroll," said Hilda, in answer to a question. "Indeed, have I much to talk with him. He comes this evening to see me. I have much to tell him and to hear from him."
Over her cup she glanced shrewdly at Sydney, who was enraged to feel herself blushing.
When Baron von Rittenheim appeared in the evening, Sydney and the Schuylers and John were just starting for the Hugers' dance.
"Surely you will go," the little Baroness had said, "and you will not think of me one time."
"You ask too much," murmured John.
She glanced at her mourning with a look that might have meant yearning for Max, or a desire to go to the ball.
Then she raised her eyes to Friedrich's, and Sydney was surprised to see a look of anger sweep over her childish face. Seeking its cause she found von Rittenheim's eyes fixed on herself, so full of love and longing and sadness that her one wish was to comfort him. Involuntarily she took a step towards him, and held out her hands. Then she remembered herself, and swept him a low courtesy, as if in thanks for the admiration of his gaze.
"You like my frock, M. le Baron?" she asked.
Von Rittenheim's eyes went to the fluffy white mass lying on the floor, and rose again to her face.
"He's speechless with rapture, Sydney," said John.