in his
hand. The stooping posture, though unusual, was so graceful, that he
said simply and with conviction, but without the least passion or
sentimentality in his voice: "Dear lady, how wonderfully beautiful you
are!"

Hannah von Gropphusen bent closer over her shoe-lace. She wanted to say
something in reply just as simple as his own words had been; but she
could find nothing except the banal rejoinder: "Please do not flatter
me, Herr Reimers!" and her voice rang a little sharply.

They walked silently side by side towards the town, by the footpath
across the meadows, and then along a little bit of the high-road until
they came to the first houses.

Reimers was under a spell. He could not speak. He listened to the light
rapid footfall that accompanied his longer stride to the rhythm of her
silk-lined skirt as she walked; and as the evening breeze from the
river wafted a faint perfume towards him, he thought of the lovely
slender arm he had seen through the transparent material of her sleeve.
This perfume must come from that fair soft skin. He felt a sudden
longing to kiss the beautiful arms.

Frau von Gropphusen avoided looking at her companion. Once only she
stole a glance at him with a shy, questioning, dubious expression. It
chanced that Reimers was looking at her. Their eyes met, and parted
reluctantly.

At the garden gate he kissed her hand in farewell. She started a little
and said with an assumption of gaiety, "Heavens! what can have come to
us? On a warm spring evening like this our hands are as cold as ice!"

Reimers hastened homewards, much perturbed in spirit. He was due at the
Guentzes' to supper at half-past eight. It had already struck the hour,
and he had yet to dress; for the colonel, who would probably be there
too, objected to see his officers in mufti, except when shooting or
some great sporting occasion was the excuse.

He found everything ready to his hand. Gaehler was very satisfactory and
most thoughtful, even to setting a bottle of red wine and a carafe of
cool spring water on a table. A glass of water with a dash of wine in
it was the best thing to quench one's thirst after playing tennis.

He hastily tossed off a glassful. It cooled him wonderfully. He poured
out a second and drank it more slowly. The water was so cold as to dew
the glass, yet it seemed powerless to quench the fire which consumed
his throat, his breast, his head.

He began to dress hurriedly. He had but a few minut