To Ingeborg he never spoke, but turned away with the same cold horror that came over the rest of the family when from windows he or it beheld her being courted with what seemed a terrible German thoroughness in places like the middle of the lawn. He could no longer walk round his own garden without meeting an interlaced couple; and though he suggested to Herr Dremmel with what he felt was really admirable self-restraint that these public endearments might give rise to comment, Herr Dremmel merely replied that as Ingeborg was his _Braut_ it ought to give rise to much more comment, even to justifiable complaints, if his manner to her were less warm. "In England we do not--" began the Bishop; but broke off for fear of losing his self-restraint. And Herr Dremmel and Ingeborg continuing to perambulate the garden slowly, with a frequent readjusting of their steps to each other's--for it is a difficult method, the interlaced one, of getting along a path--the Bishop and Mrs. Bullivant retreated for refreshment and comfort to the delicacy of Judith, to her lovely withdrawals. That the Master should blandish was natural, because a man is natural; but they knew that a woman, if she is to approach any ideal of true womanhood, cannot be too carefully unnatural, and should she be persuaded or betrayed into some expression of affection for her lover, some answering caress, at least she must not like it. And there was Ingeborg progressing round the garden as described, or in the middle of the lawn openly having her hand held, and looking pleased. It was rank. [Illustration: He could no longer trail around his own garden without meeting an interlaced couple] Ingeborg, in fact, was pleased. She was more, she was extremely happy. Here she was suddenly no longer a disgraced and boycotted and wicked girl, but that strangely encouraging object, that odd restorer of faith in oneself, a Little Sugar Lamb. The _cosiness_ of being a Sugar Lamb! She had been so very miserable. She had dragged through such cold, anæmic days. She had had such a horrible holiday, forced upon her on the very scene of her activities, and had had it brought home to her so freezingly, so blightingly, that she had done too dreadful a thing to be allowed apparently ever again to associate with the decent. And Robert--she quickly began calling him that to herself under the influence of her family's methods of reclaiming her--had not written a single letter. "But he came," said Herr Dremmel, for whose enlightenment she was picturing the week she had had. And her father would not speak to her at all, would not look at her. "Old sheep," said Herr Dremmel good-naturedly. And Judith had seemed entirely horrified, and used to blush if she tried to speak to her. "Foolish turkey," said Herr Dremmel placidly. But now somehow it did seem as if she needn't have been quite so miserable, and might have had more faith.