up her shade on all occasions?
They had the boy's birth and baptismal certificates safely in their
hands, and the Venn was far away--he would never see it--why then this
constant, tremulous anxiety? There was no reason whatever for it. They
lived in such pleasant surroundings, their financial position was so
sound, Wolf possessed everything that fills and gladdens a child's
heart, that it was real madness for Kate to suppose that he had a kind
of longing for his home. How in the world should he have got that
longing? He had no idea that this was not really his home. It was sad
that Kate was so hypersensitive. She could positively make others
nervous as well.

And the man passed his hand over his forehead, as though to drive
disagreeable thoughts away with a movement of his hand. He lighted a
cigar. It was an extra fine one to-day, those he generally left for his
guests; he had the feeling that he must have something to help him over
an unpleasant hour. For the thing was unpleasant, really unpleasant and
difficult, even if he hoped in time to solve the question of how to
train such a child satisfactorily. At any rate not as Kate was doing.
That was clear to him already.

Paul Schlieben sat in the corner of the sofa in his study, blowing
blue rings of smoke into the air. His brows were still knit. He had
come home very tired from the office that day, where there had been all
sorts of complications--quite enough annoyance--he had had to dictate
some hurried letters, had not allowed himself a moment's
repose, and had hoped to have a pleasant rest at home--but in vain.
Strange how one child can alter the whole household, one's whole life.
If the boy had not been there?... Ah, then he would have had a short
peaceful nap by now, stretched out on the divan with the newspaper in
front of his face, and would be going across to Kate's room for a cosy
chat and a cup of coffee, which she prepared herself so gracefully on
the humming Viennese coffee-machine. He had always liked to sit and
watch her slender, well-cared-for hands move about so noiselessly. It
was a pity.

He sighed. But then he conquered the feeling: no, one ought not to
wish he were away because of a momentary annoyance. How many happy
hours little Woelfchen had given them. It had been charming to watch his
first steps, to listen to his first connected words. And had not Kate
been very happy to have him--oh, who said _been_ happy?--she was still
so. Nothing could