"You see Friedrich is a courageous fellow and he is apt to speak his mind. You remember how he mimicked the military. My husband and I think he makes enemies by his impulsive temper. You know what musicians are. They talk right out. We think his enemies put difficulties in his way. And so nothing is settled. We keep waiting and here we are. Elsa wants to marry. She wants children!" exploded the artless Frau.
The abruptness of this confession in the matter-of-fact German way almost overcame Gard with embarrassment. He recovered himself at length to ask:
"Does she love him?"
"Ach Himmel! does she love him? Haven't you seen her so dumb at times? But nothing comes to pass—and when will there be anything? She gets her grumpy spells over these postponements—always postponements. You know young people are impatient. They don't understand such things. She wants to marry. Every young girl wants to marry and have children. I may die. My husband may die at any time. And she won't be settled for life."
The mother went off in a vigorous scene of upheaval. The slender and youthful Kirtley felt himself unequal to the task of trying to comfort her bulky person with its commotions.
"But what do you want me to do? Frau Bucher?"
"We all love America, Herr Kirtley!" she burst out. "Elsa loves America. Ever since that splendid Herr Deming came, we love America. And we feel we can trust you. Young men ought to marry early. Elsa wants a decent husband and a decent little home. That is not much to ask. Of course we would hate to have her go so far away. But you have always been so kind to her. You have shown such interest in her. And what a good girl Elsa is! We have brought her up so carefully—and to be a good wife. She can cook and sew and keep house. She can play and paint, and also sing a little. She is strong, never sick, and can work—work. All you Americans have money. We Germans are poor. We can't give her much for a dowry. Excuse me, Herr Kirtley, but you see I came naturally to you. Who else is there? We have made a son of you this winter." Then Frau Bucher almost shrieked out:
"And you can stay here always, if you prefer that!"
Full of her brave endeavor the mother bolted through the door without any ceremony of leave-taking.
Gard could not collect his tumultuous thoughts there in the room. At last the whole secret was out. Had she not foresightedly kept it so long with some such purpose in view?