"Oh?" ejaculated Anna, surprised. A flush of gratification came into her face. The heartiness of the tone surprised her even more than the words. She stood still to look at him. "It is a pity," she said softly, "that nearly always when we are together we get angry, for you can be so kind when you choose. Say nice things to me. Let us be happy. I love being happy." She held out her hand, smiling. He took it and gave it a hearty, matter of fact shake, and dropped it. It was very awkward, but he was struggling with an overpowering desire to take her in his arms and kiss her, and not let her go again till she had said she would marry him. It was exceedingly awkward, for he knew quite well that if he did so it would be the end of all things. He turned rather white, and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. "Yes, the plan is beautiful," he said cheerfully, "but very unpractical. And the nature that made it is, I am sure, beautiful, but of course quite as unpractical as the plan." And he smiled down at her, a broad, genial smile. "I know I don't set about things the right way," she said. "If only you wouldn't worry about the pasts of my poor friends and what their relations may have done in pre-historic times, you could help me so much." To his relief she began to walk on again. "Princess Ludwig is a sensible and experienced woman," he said, "and can help you in many ways that I cannot." "But she only looks at the _praktische_ side of a question, and that is really only one side. I am too unpractical, I know, but she isn't unpractical enough. But I don't want to talk about her. What I wanted to say was, that once these poor ladies have been chosen and are here, the time for making inquiries is over, isn't it? As far as I am concerned, anyhow, it is. I shall never forsake them, never, _never_. So please don't try to tell me things about them--it doesn't change my feelings towards them, and only makes me angry with you. Which is a pity. I want to live at peace with my neighbour." "Well?" he said, as she paused. "That, I take it, is a prelude to something else." "Yes, it is. It's a prelude to Karlchen." "To Karlchen?" She looked at him, and laughed rather nervously. "I am afraid," she said, "that Karlchen is coming to stay with me." "And who, pray, is Karlchen?" "The only son of his mother, and she is a widow." He came to a standstill again. "What," he said, "Frau von Treumann has asked you to invite her son to Kleinwalde?" "She didn't actually ask, but she got a sad letter from him, and seemed to feel the separation so much, and cried about it, and so--and so I did." Axel was silent. "I don't yearn to see Karlchen," said Anna in rather a small voice. She could not help feeling that the invitation had been wrung from her. Axel bored a hole in the moss with his stick, and did not answer. "But naturally his poor mother clings to him, and he to her." Axel was intent on his hole and did not answer.