Charlie pulled me aside, and said, with a solemn wink:
“Can you keep a secret?”
“My wife and I can keep a secret. I am not allowed to have any for myself.”
“Listen,” said the unabashed young man; “Krumm shot that fox. Mind you don’t say a word. I must have the skin to present to Franziska.”
I stared at him; I had never known him guilty of a dishonest action. But when you do get a decent young English fellow condescending to do anything shabby, be sure it is a girl who is the cause. I said nothing, of course; and in the evening a trap came for us, and we drove back to Huferschingen.
Tita clapped her hands with delight; for Charlie was a favourite of hers, and now he was returning like a hero, with a sprig of fir in his cap to show that he had killed a buck.
“And here, Miss Franziska,” he said, quite gaily, “here is a yellow fox for you. I was told that you wanted the skin of one.”
Franziska fairly blushed for pleasure; not that the skin of a fox was very valuable for her, but that the compliment was so open and marked. She came forward, in German fashion, and rather shyly shook hands with him in token of her thanks.
When Tita was getting ready for dinner I told her about the yellow fox. A married man must have no secrets.
“He is not capable of such a thing,” she says, with a grand air.