After the first tender greetings were over they sat down hand in hand on the sofa.
“Let me look at you, Jenny—oh, how lovely you are! At home they believe I am in Berlin. I am going to an hotel for the night. I mean to stay a few days in town before telling them. Won’t it be fun! It is a pity you live at home now. We could have been together all day.”
“When you knocked I thought it was your father coming.”
“Father?”
“Yes.” She felt a little embarrassed; it seemed suddenly so difficult to explain the whole thing to him. “You see, your father came one day to call, and he has been to tea sometimes in the afternoon. We sit and talk about you.”
“But, Jenny, you never wrote a word about it; you have not even mentioned that you had met father.”
“No; I preferred to tell you. You see, your mother does not know about it; your father thought it better not to mention it.”
“Not to me?”
“Oh no, we never meant that. He believes most likely that I have told you. It was only your mother who was not to know. I thought it was—well, I did not like to write you that I had a secret from your mother. You understand?”