“Why has not Martha been here to-day?” she asked. “We have not seen her for ever so long.”
“She meant to come but she is continually a victim to sick headaches.”
“Ah, yes, those sick headaches,” she remarked sympathizingly. “They are so very hard to get rid of!”
Presently she asked if I would come and look at a beautiful screen, a birthday gift for her, painted by Gina. Imszanski remained where he was.
I asked Mme. Wildenhoff why Owinski was not present.
“Really, I cannot say,” was her answer. “He was to come: but it is rather late.”
“I noticed that Gina was very much out of sorts to-day.”
“Yes, and I must say that I feel rather uneasy about her. There is something here that I cannot at all understand, and I love the girl.... Owinski is perpetually wool-gathering; he is a man you cannot rely upon.... He strikes me as one who would be deaf to any remonstrances, any reproaches.... He is a typical poet....”
“Then it may be that Gina is wrong in holding off from marriage with the man.”
“Marriage? A fine thing that would be! She is surely wealthy enough to do without it.... Marriage!” she added, not without a touch of pride. “Of what use was it in Imszanski’s case, I beg?”