"Oh, with such bleasure!" he beamed at her over his spectacles.
Nell went into his room and stood looking out into the dark street.
"I will light the lamp, Fräulein. Zere, now you can see me. Will you blease to sit down?"
She sat down. "You—I suppose you know all about business and money, don't you, Herr Schmidt?" She had seized an ink pot that was on the table, and seemed to be clutching it meaninglessly.
He smiled widely.
"They call me a goot business head, Fräulein."
"Do you have good weather in Germany, Herr Schmidt?"
He looked rather bewildered. The other question had seemed the opening of a conversation on business matters. He replied with conscientious length. Nell seemed to be listening absorbedly; she left hold of the ink pot. She was wondering if she had artfully put him sufficiently off the scent. Denis would never forgive her if she were to talk of his lottery to Herr Schmidt.
"I suppose," she remarked casually in a pause on his part for breath, "there are lotteries and things like that in Germany as well as here?"
Herr Schmidt had not finished about his climate. He blinked his eyes several times, then turned his mind to the new question. He started to give her a good deal of information on the subject. He spoke strongly, because he felt strongly about all forms of gambling. Nell had clutched hold of the ink pot again.