watched Bernardine drinking the coffee, and finally poured herself
out a cup too.

"This is the first time Herr Allitsen has ever brought a friend," she
said. "He has always been alone. Fraeulein is betrothed to Herr Allitsen--
is that so? Ah, I am glad. He is so good and, so kind."

Bernardine stopped drinking her coffee.

"No, I am not betrothed," she said cheerily. "We are just friends; and
not always that either. We quarrel."

"All lovers do that," persisted Frau Steinhart triumphantly.

"Well, you ask him yourself," said Bernardine, much amused. She had
never looked upon Robert Allitsen in that light before. "See, there
he comes!"

Bernardine was not present at the court martial, but this was what
occurred. Whilst the Disagreeable Man was paying the reckoning, Frau
Steinhart said in her most motherly tones:

"Fraeulein is a very dear young lady: Herr Allitsen has made a wise
choice. He is betrothed at last!"

The Disagreeable Man stopped counting out the money.

"Stupid old Frau Steinhart!" he said good-naturedly. "People like myself
don't get betrothed. We get buried instead!"

"Na, na!" she answered. "What a thing to say--and so unlike you too!
No, but tell me!"

"Well, I am telling you the truth," he replied. "If you won't believe
me, ask Fraeulein herself."

"I have asked her," said Frau Steinhart, "and she told me to ask you."

The Disagreeable Man was much amused. He had never thought of Bernardine
in that way.

He paid the bill, and then did something which rather astonished Frau
Steinhart, and half convinced her.

He took the bill to Bernardine, told her the amount of her share, and
she repaid him then and there.

There was a twinkle in her eye as she looked up at him. Then the
composure of her features relaxed, and she laughed.

He laughed too, but no comment was made upon the episode. Then began
the goodbyes, and the preparations for the return journey.

Bernardine bent over Catharina, and kissed her sad face.

"Fraeulein will come again?" she whispered eagerly.

And Bernardine promised. There was something in Bernardine's manner
which had won the poor girl's fancy: some unspoken sympathy, some quiet
geniality.

Just as they were starting, Frau Steinhart whispered to Robert Allitsen:

"It is a little disappointing to me, Herr Allitsen. I did so hope you
were betrothed."

August, the blue-spectacled driver, cracked his whip, and of the horses
started homewards.

For some ti