"Give it to me, Leah dear," said Reinhold rising. "Father, will you have another glass of wine? But you're not eating anything."
"It's not my time. And your famous dinner--Well, I'll go and look after my baggage. I've only to shut my little trunk."
He hastily rose--he evidently did not understand matters--and left the room.
Reinhold had also risen. He had put the little note which Leah had given him, in his pocket and now said: "I'll accompany you to the station of course. I must first give some business directions, but I'll come back again directly." He exchanged a significant glance with his wife, and left the room. The two women were now alone, Reginchen on the sofa in the dark corner, Leah at the window with her back turned toward the room.
"Have you nothing else for me to do, dearest Leah?" asked the little housekeeper after a pause.
"Nothing, Ginchen. What should I have? I leave no children behind, and Edwin's books require no care. The cook will water the flowers. But you--your mother--hark! Didn't the clock strike eight?"
"Seven. There's still a full hour--Leah--"
"What is it, child?"
"Have you reflected upon this?"
"What a strange question to ask? What is there to consider? A journey to my parents! one falls asleep here, and on awaking finds oneself at home."