"Most likely," she smiled archly, "but since you are not a staff officer, and had no right to have that book, you might as well know that you will get it when I please to give it to you."
Seeing that she was thoroughly aware of my predicament, I grew frightened and my anger slipped from its moorings. "See here," I cried, "your little story of innocence and virtue is very clever, but I've looked you up and--"
"And what--," she asked, while through her child-like mask the subtle trickery of her nature mocked me with a look of triumph--"and what do you propose to do about it?"
I realized the futility of my rage. "I shall do nothing. I ask only that you return the book."
"But books are so valuable," taunted Bertha.
Dejectedly I sank to the couch. She came over and sat on a cushion at my feet. "Really Karl," she purred, "you should not be angry. If I insist on keeping your book it is merely to be sure that you will not forget me. I rather like you; you are so queer and talk such odd things. Did you learn your strange ways of making love from the book about the inferior races in the world outside the walls? I really tried to read some of it, but I could not understand half the words."
I rose and strode about the room. "Will you get me the book?" I demanded.
"And lose you?"
"Well, what of it? You can get plenty more fools like me."
"Yes, but I would have to stand and stare into that fountain for hours at a time. It is very tiresome."