"These things are _nice_, you know," said Ingeborg, leaning forward again in her interest. "One does _like_ it somehow--being sad, you know, and thinking how lonely one is. Of course it's much more delicious to be happy, but not being happy has its jollinesses. There's a perfume...." She sought about in her mind--"It's like a wet day. It looks gloomy and miserable compared to what yesterday was like, but there _is_ an enjoyment. And things"--she hesitated, groping--"things seem to grow. Different ones. Yet they're beautiful, too." But the Baroness, who did not follow and did not want to, for it was not her business to listen to her pastor's wife, drooped an inquiring eye again over Ingeborg's body and cut her tendency to talk more than was becoming in her position short by remarking that she was still very thin. When they had sat there till the coffee was cold Ingeborg, in a pause of the talk, got up to go. The three others stared at her without moving. Even her own Robert stared uncomprehending. It seemed a lame thing to have to explain that she was now going home, but that was what she did at last murmur down to the motionless and surprised Baroness. "Are you not feeling well?" inquired the Baroness. "What is it, Ingeborg?" asked Herr Dremmel. The Baron went over to a window and opened it. "A little faint, no doubt," he said, adding something about young wives. The Baroness asked her if she would like to lie down. Herr Dremmel became alert and interested. "What is it, Little One?" he asked again, getting up. "I think it would be good if the Frau Pastor rested a little before supper," said the Baroness, getting up, too. "Certainly," said Herr Dremmel, quite eagerly, and with a funny expression on his face. Ingeborg gazed from one to the other. "But, Robert," she said, wondering why he looked like that, "oughtn't we to go home?" "Dear Frau Pastor," said the Baroness quite warmly, "you will feel better presently. Believe me. There is an hour still before supper. Come with me, and you shall lie down and rest." "But Robert--" said Ingeborg, astonished. She was, however, taken away--it seemed a sort of sweeping of her away--through glass doors, down a carpetless varnished passage into a spare bedroom, and commanded to put herself on the high white bed with her head a little lower than her feet. "But," she said, "why?" "You will be better by supper-time. Oh, I know all these things," said the Baroness, who was opening windows and had grown suddenly friendly. "Do you feel sick?" "Sick?"