Grandmamma gently reproached him. How was it that it was nearly noon and nothing had been seen of him before? "I had business to attend to," was his curt, gruff answer. Then he sat down and played carelessly with the scattered roses. Hertha was grieved; thus her pretty little plan came to nothing. Of course, he didn't suspect how significant those roses were for him. "What are the kids doing?" he asked. Hertha started. She didn't deserve to be called by such a name as that. But she comforted herself with the thought that he was trying to hide his secret. Grandmamma gave him the desired information. Hertha had put in an appearance, but Elly was still asleep. To-day she might have grace and sleep to twelve if she liked--the longer the better. He was hungry, and crumbled the toasted rolls impatiently. "What incapable dog of a cook have we got now?" he grumbled. Grandmamma stood up to go and see what had happened in the kitchen. "Hertha is waiting too," she said. "Where is the little one?" he asked. "She has scampered away from you once more, like a frightened hare," responded grandmamma. "I will send her out if I see her." With which she went into the house. Hertha saw how he smiled to himself for a moment, then wrinkled his brows again in heavy thought. With his head buried in his hands, he sat brooding there. Infinite compassion awoke in Hertha. "He has been bothered by some new trouble," she thought, "and his cares make his head ache." From now on it would be her duty to stand by him in time of trial, whatever her mood might be. And with resolute steps, digging her heels into the ground, she emerged from the yew hedge. But when she reached the foot of the terrace, she reeled and was obliged to pause for breath. She had never imagined that one could feel such unspeakable fear of the man one loved better than life itself. Now she was at the top of the steps. But, still lost in meditation, he did not look up. He held one of the roses between his lips, and chewed the stalk. She was trembling so much that she had to steady herself by holding on to the corner of the table. How should she greet him? A mere "Good morning" sounded too commonplace and everyday. She sighed. Then at last he looked up. A friendly, quiet smile beamed on his face. "Good morning; good morning," he said quite naturally. "Why that deep sigh? Have we caught cold--a touch of fever, eh?" She gazed silently at him with great wounded eyes. These were almost exactly the same words as good old grandmamma had used. Perhaps he too was going to ask to feel her pulse. Her hand fluttered in his; then she sank into an armchair, still not speaking. Again the dread overcame her that, after thinking it over, he had decided she was too immature, and would treat yesterday as if it had never been. And she would have no means of combating his decision and making him act otherwise.