"Yes," said Lena, "he is cleverer, but then he is miserly and hard-hearted and that makes him docile, because he always has a bad conscience. She looks after him sharply and will not allow it, if he tries to overreach anyone. And that is what he is afraid of, and that makes him yielding."
"Is that all?"
"Perhaps love, too, if it does sound strange. I mean love on his side. For in spite of his fifty-six years or more he is perfectly wild over his wife, simply because she is stout. Both of them have made me the most wonderful confessions about that. But I confess frankly, she is not to my taste."
"But you are wrong there, Lena; she makes quite a figure."
"Yes," laughed Lena, "she makes a figure, but she has none. Can't you see, that her hips are a hand's breath too high? But you never see anything like that, and 'figure' and 'imposing' are every other word with you, without any concern as to the origin of that 'imposing figure.'"
Chatting and teasing each other thus they paused and stooped down to see if they could find an early strawberry in the bed that lay in front of the hedge and fence. Finally Lena found what she wanted, took the stem of a perfect beauty between her lips and came close up to Botho and looked at him.
He was nothing loth, plucked the berry from her lips and embraced and kissed her.
"My sweet Lena, you did that just right. But just hear how Sultan is barking; he wants to get to you; shall I let him loose?"
"No, if he is here, you are only half mine. And if you keep on talking about 'stately Frau Dörr,' then I have as good as nothing left of you at all."
"Good," laughed Botho, "Sultan may stay where he is. I am contented. But I want to talk more about Frau Dörr. Is she really so good?"