“But why, all of a sudden?”
“My sister will be home from Berlin, in a day or two⸺”
“And you’d leave me here to ‘mind’ the dog.”
“No.—Don’t see Kreisler any more, Sorbert. Dog is the word indeed! He is mad: ganz verucht!—Promise me, Sorbert”—she took his hand—“not to go to the café any more!”
“Do you want him at your door at twelve to-night?—I feel I may be playing the part of—gooseberry, is it⸺?”
“Don’t, Sorbert. If you only knew!—He was here this morning, hammering for nearly half an hour. But all I ask you is to go to the café no more. There is no need for you to be mixed up in all this. I only am to blame.”
“I wonder what is the real explanation of Kreisler?” Sorbert said, pulled up by what she had said. “Have you known him long—before you knew me, for instance?”
“No, only a week or two—since you went away.”
“I must ask Kreisler. But he seems to have very primitive notions about himself.”
“Don’t bother any more with that man, Sorbert. You don’t do any good. Don’t go to the café to-night!”