When Franz Lindner burst in upon him, however, at his old-fashioned inn, in the street that is called Unter den Lauben, all indignant with the news how he had lighted upon Linnet and the Herr Engländer together on the slopes of the Küchelberg, and how he believed they had been meeting there secretly for many mornings at a stretch, Andreas saw at once this was no laughing matter. It was serious rivalry. For Franz Lindner himself, as a possible suitor of Linnet’s, he didn’t care a button. He could afford to despise the self-assertive Robbler. But Will Deverill—ah, that was quite another matter! Will Deverill was dangerous; he saw so much at a glance; and all the more dangerous in that he made his advances to the girl clandestinely. Poaching on those preserves must be severely repressed. Andreas didn’t for a moment suppose the Engländer intended or wanted to _marry_ the child; that was hardly likely: but he might upset her feelings, and, lead her into trouble, and unsettle her heart, and what was worse still, stuff her head all full of silly romantic nonsense. Still, being always a prudent man, Andreas said little at the time. He was content with assuring Franz, in a very confident tone, that he’d put a stop at once to this folly of Linnet’s. He acquiesced for the present—it being his nature to temporise—in Franz’s little pretension to treat the girl as his acknowledged _mädchen_. He acquiesced, and smiled,—though he hadn’t the slightest intention of relinquishing his own hold on a future prima donna. Meanwhile, he pushed on all the legal formalities for marrying Linnet himself, as soon as he thought it well to disclose his matured plans to her. So when Will went up to their stated meeting-place on the slopes of the Küchelberg, the morning after that stormy interview at the knoll with Franz Lindner, hardly daring to expect Linnet would be there to receive him, he was astonished to find her awaiting him much as usual at the accustomed seat, undeterred by either the _wirth_ or the redoubtable Robbler. “I can’t understand it myself,” she said, holding his hand, and half crying. “It’s awfully curious. I thought he’d be angry with me, and scold me so hard, and perhaps shut me up in the house for a week, or, at any rate, not let me come out any more to meet you. But, instead of that, he never said a word; he hasn’t even spoken to me at all about the matter. Perhaps Franz hasn’t told him yet; but I think he must have—and so does Philippina. It almost seems as if he didn’t mind my coming out at all. We can only wait and see. That’s all I can make of it.”