“Poor, plain, vivacious, fascinating little Frau Nirlanger!” I said. “I wonder just how much of pain and heartache that little musical laugh of hers conceals?” “Ja, that is so,” mused Frau Knapf. “Her eyes look like eyes that have wept much, not? And so you will be so kind and go maybe to select the so beautiful clothes?” “Clothes?” I repeated, remembering the original errand. “But dear lady! How, does one select clothes for a woman of forty who would not weary her husband? That is a task for a French modiste, a wizard, and a fairy godmother all rolled into one.” “But you will do it, yes?” urged Frau Knapf. “I’ll do it,” I agreed, a bit ruefully, “if only to see the face of the oogly husband when his bride is properly corseted and shod.” Whereupon Frau Knapf, in a panic, remembered the unset Kuchen dough and rushed away, with her hand on her lips and her eyes big with secrecy. And I sat staring at the last typewritten page stuck in my typewriter and I found that the little letters on the white page were swimming in a dim purple haze. CHAPTER X. A TRAGEDY OF GOWNS From husbands in general, and from oogly German husbands in particular may Hymen defend me! Never again will I attempt to select “echt Amerikanische” clothes for a woman who must not weary her young husband. But how was I to know that the harmless little shopping expedition would resolve itself into a domestic tragedy, with Herr Nirlanger as the villain, Frau Nirlanger as the persecuted heroine, and I as—what is it in tragedy that corresponds to the innocent bystander in real life? That would be my role. The purchasing of the clothes was a real joy. Next to buying pretty things for myself there is nothing I like better than choosing them for some one else. And when that some one else happens to be a fascinating little foreigner who coos over the silken stuffs in a delightful mixture of German and English; and especially when that some one else must be made to look so charming that she will astonish her oogly husband, then does the selecting of those pretty things cease to be a task, and become an art. It was to be a complete surprise to Herr Nirlanger. He was to know nothing of it until everything was finished and Frau Nirlanger, dressed in the prettiest of the pretty Amerikanisch gowns, was ready to astound him when he should come home from the office of the vast plant where he solved engineering problems.