At first he was grateful to her for this last. What could he say to her after that scene in the garden? By and by, however, her reserve began to annoy him. His mocking intercourse with her was necessary to him as a counterpoise to his grandfather's harshness and severity, and also, although he did not acknowledge this to himself, to Johanna's earnestness. For a time it had interested him to pursue his betrothed's line of thought, more especially as he could resign himself to her guidance without any trouble, and, trusting to her, frequently made discoveries in himself which flattered his vanity. But he grew weary of her earnestness. It came to be an effort to him to follow her along the paths she trod so naturally and simply, and he began to sigh for the intellectual and mental repose which he had always sought and found in the society of women. Where should he find it now? Magelone held herself aloof from him, and Elfrida Klausenburg seemed to have forgotten his existence. In fact, his position in society was entirely changed. He had not noticed this so long as the entertainments given in return for the grand Dönninghausen dinner lasted, but when the echo of the toasts drunk in honour of the betrothed pair had died away, he suddenly found himself of slight importance, if not entirely overlooked, and this not only by calculating mothers and daughters, as every betrothed man must expect, but universally. He had not looked for this result of his choice. And society had still further cause for discontent with him. One day the old Countess Klausenburg begged Otto not to read the newspaper, which he was in the habit of glancing through daily. Of course he perused it with all the more attention, and found in it an announcement that Johanna's step-mother was married to the equestrian artist and circus-manager Carlo Batti. Flushed with excitement, he rode to Dönninghausen, where he found Johanna alone on the veranda. "Have you seen what is in the paper?" he asked, scarcely taking time to greet her. "I suppose it is another of those shameless lies----" "No; it is true," Johanna interrupted him. "Helena has written to me herself. Her letter came by the same post that brought the paper." "Really!" Otto exclaimed. "Well, you have not much cause for pride in that connection. But then it is no affair of yours," he added, by way of consolation, seeing her change colour. She looked up startled. Could he regard so superficially what had cut her to the very quick? "Oh, Otto!" she said, "I cannot understand how that woman, whom my father fairly adored, could forget him so quickly."