"English?" he inquired, indifferently. The German cannot disassociate
an Englishman and a briarwood bulldog pipe.
"English," I answered discourteously. It mattered nothing to me
whether he took me for an Englishman or a Zulu; either answered the
purpose.
He wore an eyeglass, through which he surveyed me rather contemptuously.
"What is your name, fraulein?" he asked turning to Gretchen.
"Gretchen," sweetly.
"And what is the toll for a kiss?"
"Nothing," said Gretchen, looking at me. The lieutenant started for
her, but she waved him off. "Nothing, Herr Lieutenant, because they
are not for sale."
I moved closer to the bar.
"Out for a constitutional?" I asked, blowing the ash from the live coal
in my pipe.
"We are on his Majesty's business," with an intonation which implied
that the same was none of mine. "Gretchen, we shall return to-night,
so you may lay two plates at a separate table," with an eye on me. He
couldn't have hated me any more than I hated him. "Then, there is no
way of getting a kiss?"
"No," said Gretchen.
"Then I'll blow you one;" and Gretchen made a pretty curtesey.
I nearly bit the amber stem off my pipe. They were soon gone, and I
was glad of it.
"Herr Jack is angry," said Gretchen.
"Not at all," I growled. "What right have I to be angry?"
"Does Herr Jack wish Gretchen always to be sad?"
"Certainly not: but sometimes your joy is irritating. You are sad all
day, then some strangers come, and you are all smiles. Your smiles do
not come in my direction as often as I should like."
"Well, then, look at me," said Gretchen.
The smile would have dazzled an anchorite, let alone a man who didn't
know whether he loved her for certain, but who was willing to give odds
that he did!
"Gretchen!" I cried, starting toward her.
But with a low laugh she disappeared behind the door. Gretchen was a
woman. As a man must have his tobacco, so must a woman have her
coquetry. It was rather unfair of Gretchen, after what I had promised.
It was like getting one in a cage and then offering sweetmeats at a
safe distance.
It now became a question of analysis. So I went to the river and sat
down in the grass. A gentle wind was stirring the leaves, and the
sunbeams, filtering through the boughs, fell upon the ground in golden
snowflakes. What was Gretchen to me that I should grow jealous of her
smiles? The night before I could have sworn that I loved her; now I
was not so sure. A week ago all the sunshine in the world had come
from Phyllis's face; a shadow had come between. Oh, I knew the
symptoms. They were not new to me. They had visited me some five
years back, and had clung to me with the tenacity of a creditor to a
man with expectations. When a man arrives at that point where he wants
the society of one woman all to himself, the matter assumes serious
proportions. And a man likes to fall in love with one woman and
continue to love her all his days; it is more romantic. It annoys him
to face the fact that he is about to fall in love with another. In my
case I felt that there was some extenuation. Gretchen looked like
Phyllis. When I saw Gretchen in the garden and then went to my room
and gazed upon the likeness of Phyllis, I was much like the bachelor
Heine tells about--I doddered.