Laura swept down the steps, all in white as if veiled in a snowcloud; and how pretty she looked! Her cheeks were indeed paler than usual, and her brows were gloomily knit, but the sad expression gave an enchanting dignity to her countenance. She avoided looking at the Doctor, only slightly moving her head at his greeting, and when he offered his hand to assist her, she passed by him and seated herself in her place as if he were not there. He had some difficulty in finding room next to her; she nodded, ignoring him, to Mr. Hummel, who was standing on the steps looking far more cheerful than his child. The horses trotted slowly on; Laura looked neither to the right nor to the left. "It is the first time she officiates as godmother," thought the Doctor, "that causes this solemn mood; or perhaps she is repentant because of the colored handkerchief!" He looked at her hands; the gloves that he sent were not to be seen. "Have I offended against etiquette?" he thought again, "or were they too large for her little hands?" "He is silent," she thought, "that is his bad conscience; he is thinking of the cat's claws, and has not a word of thanks for my pocket-handkerchief; I have been sadly mistaken in him." This consideration made her so sorrowful that tears again rose to her eyes; but she pressed her lips tightly together, squeezed the thumb of her right hand, and silently counted from one up to ten, an old recipe she had formerly used for restraining vehement feeling. "Things cannot go on so," thought the Doctor, "I must speak to her." "You have not been able to use the gloves that T ventured to send you," he began modestly; "I fear I have made a bad selection." This was too much; Laura turned her head sharply toward the Doctor. For a moment he saw two flashing eyes, and heard the contemptuous words: "I am no cat." Again her lips were compressed, and she clenched her hand convulsively. Fritz reflected with astonishment whether gloves that wrinkle could ever have been considered a characteristic sign of our domestic animal. He thought the remark incongruous. "What a pity she is so whimsical!" After a time he began again: "I fear you will feel the draught; shall I close the window?" "Not at all," answered Laura, with icy coldness. "Do you know what the baby is to be called?" continued the doctor. "He is to be called Fritz," returned Laura; and for the second time a flaming look of anger met his spectacles, then she turned away again. Ah! in spite of the lightning that flashed from her eyes, the Doctor could not deny but that she was at this moment wonderfully lovely. She also felt obliged to say something now, and began, over her shoulder:-- "I think the name a very common one." "It is my own name," said the Doctor; "and as I hear it every day, I must agree with you. It is at least a German name," he added, good-humoredly. "It is a pity that they are so much neglected."