"Cats do not have pockets, my dear Herr Klutz. You must have noticed that yourself. Pray, what is it that you have in yours?" "A little poem she sent me in answer to one of mine. A little, sweet poem. I thought you might like to see how your future wife writes to another man." "Ah--that is why you have called so kindly on me? Out of pure thoughtfulness. My future wife, then, is Miss Estcourt?" "It is an open secret." "It is, most unfortunately, not true." "_Ach_--I knew you would deny it," cried Klutz, slapping his leg and grinning horribly. "I knew you would deny it when you heard she had been behaving badly. But denials do not alter anything--no one will believe them----" Axel shrugged his shoulders. "Am I to see the poem?" he asked. Klutz took it out and handed it to him. The twilight had come into the room, and Axel put the paper down a moment while he lit the candles on his table. Then he smoothed out its creases, and holding it close to the light read it attentively. Klutz leaned forward and watched his face. Not a muscle moved. It had been calm before, and it remained calm. Klutz could hardly keep himself from leaping up and striking that impassive face, striking some sort of feeling into it. He had played his big card, and Axel was quite unmoved. What could he do, what could he say, to hurt him? "Shall we burn it?" inquired Axel, looking up from the paper. "Burn it? Burn my poem?" "It is such very great nonsense. It is written by a child. We know what child. Only one in this part can write English." "Miss Estcourt wrote it, I tell you!" cried Klutz, jumping to his feet and snatching the paper away. "Your telling me so does not in the very least convince me. Miss Estcourt knows nothing about it." "She does--she did----" screamed Klutz, beside himself. "Your Miss Estcourt--your _Braut_--you try to brazen it out because you are ashamed of such a _Braut_. It is no use--everyone shall see this, and be told about it--the whole province shall ring with it--_I_ will not be the laughing-stock, but _you_ will be. Not a labourer, not a peasant, but shall hear of it----" "It strikes me," said Axel, rising, "that you badly want kicking. I do not like to do it in my house--it hardly seems hospitable. If you will suggest a convenient place, neutral ground, I shall be pleased to come and do it."