From that afternoon on, there was no longer the slightest shadow of constraint between aunt and nephew. But Paul was very slow to drop his aloof curt manner with the rest of the family, and except for Mrs. Lambert and Granny none of them had penetrated his shell.
Carl had by no means lost his dislike of his cousin, and indeed he was not entirely to blame. To begin with he inspired Paul with an uncontrollable desire to annoy him, and when he felt like it, Paul had a perfect genius for irritating people. He had found all the joints in Carl’s armour, and he took a thoroughly infuriating delight in probing him in every unguarded spot. Every now and again, Carl would adopt a peculiar, affected accent in his speech, and would use very grand language; then Paul would mimic him perfectly gravely, until Carl was fairly writhing with suppressed rage. Again, Carl was rather given to boasting about himself in an indirect way, and Paul would promptly cap these little bursts of vanity with some outrageous story about himself, making himself out the hero of some high-flown adventure, and modestly describing his own feats of strength until Carl, who could not decide whether his cousin was serious or slyly making fun of him, came at length to the opinion that Paul was the most insufferable braggart that ever lived. He was particularly vulnerable on this point, because he had, secretly, a great admiration of physical strength and courage, and Paul’s superiority to him in these qualities had much to do with his dislike.
As the weeks went on, the twins were next to lose their timidity with their strange cousin. He teased them fearfully, and tweaked their yellow pig-tails, and told them they looked like a pair of little butter balls; but on Saturday nights, while Elise read “Ivanhoe” aloud, and the family gathered around the big fireplace in the dining room, he used to make them the most wonderful paper dolls, beautifully drawn and colored, and in the greatest variety; mediæval ladies and knights, brigands, Italian and Rumanian peasants, and hosts of comic ones; until Minie and Lottie finally came to regard him as quite the most enchanting and remarkable member of the family.
Jane, however, was still neutral; she neither liked nor disliked him, and was perfectly indifferent as to whether he liked or disliked her.
And meanwhile, under Aunt Gertrude’s guidance, he struggled, more manfully than successfully with the difficult art of baking cakes and bread. It cannot be said that he showed the slightest signs of the gift which Mr. Lambert believed that Johann Winkler had bequeathed to all his descendants; and so far not one of his attempts had been fit to go into the shop. His bread was as heavy as lead, his rolls were like sticks of dynamite, his cakes invariably scorched, or had too much baking soda in them.
Notwithstanding the fact that he really tried hard to learn, as much to please his aunt as for any other reason, and cheerfully rose before daylight on those wintry mornings to knead his dough, and see that the ovens were properly heated, Mr. Lambert chose to believe that his nephew was deliberately trying not to be successful; and seeing in Paul’s repeated failures a sly rebellion against his plans, he became more and more out of humour with the boy.
“See here, young man, how long is this business going to go on?” he demanded at length, losing patience altogether. “All of us have got to earn our own salt. I’m not a rich man, and I simply can’t afford to provide for a big, strapping boy who can’t even learn a simple trade—”
“‘A little patience, Uncle—’” quoted Paul serenely. Mr. Lambert flushed.
“You are impudent. Patience, indeed. I have been patient. But I feel that it is high time that you proved yourself in earnest, or at least told me frankly whether you intend to make yourself of some use or not.”
Paul thought for a moment, then he said slowly,