"I have been appointed to the Staff in Berlin," he said. "The order arrived this afternoon. It’s all a step in the right direction, isn’t it? At any rate, I shall be out of the routine and able to do head-work to my heart’s—I mean head’s content." Frau von Arnim laughed and pressed the strong hand which still held hers. "It is splendid, Wolff," she said. "I knew that the day would come when we should be proud of _unsren Junge_. Who knows? Perhaps as an old, old woman I shall be able to hobble along on a stately General’s arm—that is, of course, if he will be seen with such an old wreck. But"—her face overshadowed somewhat—"when shall we have to part with you?" "Not for some months," he said, seating himself beside her, "and then I think you had better pack up your goods and chattels and come too. I shall never be able to exist without you to keep me in order and Hildegarde to cheer me up." "I have never noticed that you wanted much keeping in order," Frau von Arnim said with a grave smile. "And as for the other matter, it is to you that Hildegarde owes much of her cheeriness. She will miss you terribly." A silence fell between them which neither noticed, though it lasted some minutes. Overhead some one began to play the "Liebeslied" from the _Walküre_. Wolff looked up and found that his aunt’s eyes were fixed on him. "Hildegarde?" he asked, and for the first time he felt conscious of a lack of candour. Frau von Arnim shook her head. "Poor Hildegarde never plays," she reminded him gently. "It is Nora—Miss Ingestre. You remember her?" "Yes," he said slowly. "She is not easily forgotten." After a moment’s hesitation he added, "I never knew English people could be so charming. Those I have met on my travels have either been badly mannered boors or arrogant pokers. Miss Ingestre is either an exception or a revelation." The room was in part darkness, as Frau von Arnim loved it best. A small lamp burned on her table, and by its light she could study his face unobserved. "She has won all hearts—even to the coachman, who has a prejudice against foreigners," she said in a lighter tone, "and Hildegarde has become another person since her arrival. I do not know what we should do without her. When she first came she was, of course, baked in her insular prejudices, but she is so open-minded and broad-hearted that they have fallen away almost miraculously. We have not had to suffer—as is so often the case—from volleys of Anglo-Saxon criticisms." "She seems musical, too," Wolff said, who was still listening with close attention to the unseen player. "She is musical; so much so that I am having her properly trained at the Conservatorium," his aunt answered with enthusiasm. "When she has got out of certain English mannerisms she will do well. It is already a delight to listen to her." A tide of warm colour darkened Wolff’s face as he glanced quickly at Frau von Arnim’s profile.