“Oh! supper, please!” said Rex, of the sun-browned face and laughing eyes. Smiling Anna, standing by, understood, aided by a hint from Ruth of “Schmarn und Reh-braten”—and clattered away to fetch the never-changing venison and fried batter, with which, and Schicksalsee beer, the Frau Förster sustained her guests the year round, from “Georgi” to “Michaeli” and from “Michaeli” to “Georgi,” reasoning that what she liked was good enough for them. The shapeless cook was ladling out dumplings, which she called “Nudel,” into some soup for a Munich opera singer, who had just arrived by the stage. Anna confided to her that this was a “feiner Herr,” and must be served accordingly. The kind Herr Förster came up to greet his guest. Mrs Dene introduced him as Mr Gethryn, of New York. At this Mr Blumenthal bounced forward from a corner where he had been spying and shook hands hilariously. “Vell! and how it goes!” he cried. Rex saw Ruth’s face as she turned away, and stepping to her side, he whispered, “Friend of yours?” The teasing tone woke a thousand memories of their boy and girl days, and Ruth’s young lady reserve had changed to the frank camaraderie of former times when she shook her head at him, laughing, as he looked back at them from the stairs, up which he was following Grethi and his portmanteau to the room prepared for him. Half an hour later Mrs Dene and her daughter were looking with approval at Rex and his hearty enjoyment of the Frau Förster’s fare. The cook, on learning that this was a “feiner Herr,” had added trout to the regulation dishes; and although she was convinced that the only proper way to cook them was “blau gesotten”—meaning boiled to a livid bluish white—she had learned American tastes from the Denes and sent them in to Gethryn beautifully brown and crisp. Rex turned one over critically. “Good little fish. Who is the angler?” “Oh! angler! They were caught with bait,” said Ruth, wrinkling her nose. Rex gave her a quick look. “I suppose you have forgotten how to cast a fly.” “No, I think not,” she answered quietly. Mrs Dene opened her mouth to speak, and then discreetly closed it again in silence, reflecting that whatever there was to come on that point would get itself said without any assistance from her. “I had a look at the water as I came along,” continued Rex. “It seemed good casting.” “I never see it but I think how nice it would be to whip,” said Ruth. “No! really? Not outgrown the rod and fly since you grew into ball dresses?” “Try me and see.” “Now, my dearest child!—” “Yes, my dearest mother!—” “Yes, dearest Mrs Dene!—” “Oh! nonsense! listen to me, you children. Ruth danced herself ill at Cannes; and she lost her color, and she had a little cough, and she has it still, and she is very easily tired—” “Only of _not_ fishing and hunting, dearest, most perfect of mothers! You won’t put up papa to forbid my going with him and Rex!”