fficulties. His sister was
weary, and an overpowering sense of loneliness possessed her; she had
always known her brother to be an egoist, but a certain spontaneous, easy
kindness had masked his self-love when he was in Mecklemburg.

They walked over the field before the house, passed through the
tree-shaded garden, up the red-tiled garden-path to the side door of the
Neuhaus, and Friedrich knocked loudly with the handle of his cane on the
panel. Madame de Ruth's peasant servant admitted them, and led the way
through the dark corridor to the panelled room, where, three months
earlier, it had been decided that Wilhelmine should be summoned to
Wirtemberg to help fill her brother's purse.

The sunshine streamed down on the garden without, but the room was
chilly, and Wilhelmine shivered a little as she stood waiting for her
unknown hostess to appear. It could not be said that Wilhelmine was a
timid woman, yet hers was one of those natures which, though ready to
attempt many things, shrink unaccountably at any touch of dreariness, and
almost dread meeting strangers. She looked at her brother, who stood with
his back turned towards the room, gazing out at the sunlit garden. She
noted his broad shoulders, the graceful pose of the body, the straight,
shapely legs, and the slightness of hip which distinguished him from the
usual heavily-built German. There was beauty in his lines, and yet a
certain strangeness of proportion in the whole figure which puzzled her
for a moment; then she noticed the extreme smallness of his head, and the
curious absence of development in the back of the skull, which gave him a
well-bred but foolish look. He was quite amiable, and meant kindly
towards his sister, yet he was incapable of helping in what was for her a
difficult moment; indeed, he added to her feeling of loneliness by his
loud talk and patronising air. At length the door opened and Madame de
Ruth appeared. She came forward with hands outstretched and a smile of
welcome on her kind, ugly face, which became most genial when she saw her
guest's undoubted beauty. 'A thousand pardons for keeping you waiting, my
dear! I was not dressed, lazy old woman that I am! And how fatigued you
must be, dear child; such a journey!--Graevenitz, have you not offered
your sister some refreshment? Good Lord! what an idea! What? You say you
have been talking? Yes, yes, I warrant you have!' Her sharp eyes had
taken in the situation. Madame de Ruth, though she