"You gave us so little time, my dear boy," he said presently, "to make your acquaintance over again, considering the time you have been abroad, that I feel almost as a stranger to you."
"I should not like ever to be a stranger to you," replied Egbert; "but I own I felt a shrinking from coming here at all, much more upon such an occasion, and to meet such people."
"You have grown fastidious, I am afraid."
"I have led a very quiet life for the last few years, and I feel much older than I am, and quite different from all the young people, both men and girls, I have met to-day; and, to tell you the truth, I felt shy, so I delayed coming to the last moment. But if you will stay when the house is quiet again, I am sure we shall understand each other."
"With all my heart, my dear fellow; your father was my earliest friend, and I should like his son to be as my own."
"I am glad you are alone in the world, Charles, if you will allow me that cousinly freedom; for I own I should have been scared at a bevy of ladies, and probably committed some dreadful solecism, and have got myself ostracized for ever."
"Well, well; it will all come in time, no doubt; and now tell me all about your life at Heidelberg."
Could Charles Beran have looked back at that life, and known what was called back to existence by his careless question, perhaps he might have asked it less carelessly, and been less astonished at the effect it produced. His cousin grew pale.
"My dear boy," he added hurriedly, "if there is any painful recollection I have stirred up without knowing it, pray forgive me."