"He doesn't in the least realize how fortunate he is to get such a yielding, lamb-like wife as I am," she murmured. "To be sure, I could not possibly fancy that he married me for my money."
She laughed a clear ringing laugh.
"I shall have a nice little trousseau if Aunt Rosa gets it."
And she opened the garden door and ran out into the green shrubbery.
The world was so beautiful, the sun so golden and Adelaide was so fond of the little judge.
She was engaged, secretly engaged, for the good fellow would not come before his friend in all his bridegroom's bliss, when his happiness was so utterly shattered. So they had plighted their troth secretly--after the bowl of mai-trank on that last day. Aunt Rosa was no check upon them, for she slept placidly in the corner of the sofa, and Frank--Heaven alone knew when he had gone.
But now--she looked at her pretty little hands; yes, there were ink-stains on them; she had sent off the news at once to Frankfort: "Great fire, great anxiety, great reconciliation."
She found herself suddenly before a stout little man in a gray summer overcoat and a white straw hat.
"Oh, ta, ta! little one, don't run over me!"
He was very cross, this good Uncle Henry.