pying, you demean yourself in your own eyes." Her hands
closed over each other, gripped each other so tightly that the knuckles
showed quite white. "I had left him at his desk, he had so much to do,
and when I returned not a stroke had been done. But I heard--heard them
downstairs, at the back of the house near the kitchen door."

"Heard whom?"

"Wolfgang and her, of course--Cilia. I had only been away quite a
short time."

"Well--and then?"

She had stopped and sighed, full of a deep distress which drove away
the anger from her eyes.

"He put his arms round her neck from behind. And he kissed her.
'Dear Cillchen,' he said. And she drew him towards her, took him almost
on her lap--he is much too big for that, much too big--and spoke softly
to him the whole time."

"Did you understand what she said?"

"No. But they laughed. And then she gave him a slap behind--you
should only have seen it--and then he gave her one. They took turns to
slap each other. Do you consider that proper?"

"That goes too far, you are right. But it's nothing bad. She is a
good girl, quite unspoilt as yet, and he a stupid boy. Surely you don't
intend to send the girl away for that? For goodness' sake, Kate, think
it well over. Did they see you?"

"No."

"Well, then, don't do it. It's much wiser. I'll speak to the boy
some time when I find an opportunity."

"And you think I couldn't--I can't--I mustn't send her away?" Kate
had grown quite dejected in the presence of his calmness.

"There's no reason whatever for it." He was fully convinced of what
he said, and wanted to take up his paper again. Then he caught her
eyes, and stretched out his hand to her across the table. "Dear child,
don't take everything so much to heart. You're making your life
miserable--your own, the boy's--and--yes, mine too. Take
things easier. There! And now I'll read my paper at last."

Kate got up quietly--he was all right, he was reading. She had not
given him her hand. His calmness hurt her. It was more than calmness,
it was indifference, slackness. But she would not be slack, no, she
would not get tired of doing her duty.

And she went after her boy.

Wolfgang was already upstairs in his room. But he had first crept
softly up to Cilia, who was drying the plates and dishes in the
kitchen, from behind, had given her a pinch and then thrown both arms
round her and begged for a story: "Tell me something"--but she would
not.

"I don't know anything."