"You can imagine," the Rev. John had written, "that apart from the fact that we shall miss our boy terribly, the expense of the undertaking weighs heavily upon our minds. I am prepared, however, to make every possible sacrifice in order that he should obtain his wish, and am anxious to know if you could help me. Being on the spot, you will know best where and at what cost he could remain during his stay in your fine capital and, as one of the family, I feel sure that we shall be able to trust him to your care and surveillance. I should be most grateful, my dear Wolff, if you would give me your reply as soon as possible, as Miles is most eager to join you, and my wife, whose health, I regret to say, is far from satisfactory, feels that it would be good for her to be able to enjoy perfect quiet." Nora put the letter down. It was the first time that the Rev. John had ever spoken of his son-in-law as "My dear Wolff" or admitted that he was "one of the family," and Nora felt vaguely ashamed—so much so, that she did not meet her husband’s eyes, but sat twisting the carefully written epistle into a torn screw, as though she would have preferred to throw it in the fire, but was restrained by a sense of respect. "I have certainly overdone it with my descriptions," she admitted frankly. "Miles is getting bored at home, and imagines that we can procure a good time for him here. What are you going to do, Wolff?" "I think there is only one thing for us to do," Wolff answered, with a somewhat grim smile, "and that is—our duty. I shall write to your father and invite Miles to stay with us, so long as he is in Berlin." Nora got up. The movement was abrupt enough to suggest a sudden disquiet amounting to actual fear, and her face had become crimson. "Wouldn’t you like it, Nora?" her husband asked. He was watching her keenly, and his gaze seemed to increase her uneasiness. "Miles is so young—a mere boy," she stammered. "We can’t tell what trouble he will get into. And besides, where have we to put him? We have no room?" "There is the _Fremdenzimmer_," Wolff answered quietly; "and as to your other objection, I can only say that at his age I was already lieutenant, and free to govern my own life as I chose." "One can’t compare you with Miles," Nora interposed. "I think your people must have been able to trust you when you were in the cradle." Wolff laughed, but the gravity in his eyes remained unchanged. He got up, and put his hands on Nora’s shoulders. "You do not want your brother to come," he said. "Is it not a little because you are ashamed—of the way we live?" Nora met his eyes steadily, but for a moment she was silent, deep in her own thoughts. She was trying to find out exactly why a weight had fallen upon her mind, why the atmosphere in the little room had become close and stifling. Was it really shame, or was it something else—a foreboding of resulting evil, too vague to be defined in words?