“Why, Fräulein, how good of you to come so soon! I only got home this morning.”
Gretel’s tone was cordial, but she was conscious of a sudden sinking of her heart. She was glad to see her old friend, she told herself, of course she was very glad indeed, and yet—and yet—she could not help wishing Fräulein had not come quite so soon.
“How delightfully cool it is in here!” exclaimed the German woman, sinking wearily down upon the sofa. “The streets are like an oven. This American heat is frightful.”
“Let me fan you,” cried Gretel, eager to atone for that slight feeling of discomfort, and seizing a fan from the table, she began plying it with rather unnecessary vigor.
“It is refreshing,” murmured Fräulein, half closing her eyes. She was really looking very worn and tired, Gretel thought. “Oh, it is good to see you again, my child. Have you missed me?”
“It seemed very strange after you went away,” said Gretel, trying to evade a direct reply to the question. “I missed my German lessons very much. How did you know I was coming home to-day?”
“I knew the school was to close on the fourteenth, and felt sure you would all leave by the morning train, as you did last year. I could not let the day pass without seeing you; I have missed you so terribly.”
There was gentle reproach in Fräulein’s tone, and it made Gretel vaguely uncomfortable, although she could not help being flattered as well.
“I hope you have gotten my letters,” she said, anxiously.
“Oh, yes, and it was good of you to write, but letters are not the same as speaking face to face, and I have missed my favorite pupil sadly.”