“Why not,” she replied, letting her calm, clear look rest upon me, but not for long. A moment later I am kneeling before her, pressing my burning face against the fragrant muslin of her gown. “But Severin—this isn’t right,” she cried. But I take hold of her little foot, and press my lips upon it. “You are getting worse and worse!” she cried. She tore herself free, and fled rapidly toward the house, the while her adorable slipper remained in my hand. Is it an omen? * * * * * All day long I didn’t dare to go near her. Toward evening as I was sitting in my arbor her gay red head peered suddenly through the greenery of her balcony. “Why don’t you come up?” he called down impatiently. I ran upstairs, and at the top lost courage again. I knocked very lightly. She didn’t say come-in, but opened the door herself, and stood on the threshold. “Where is my slipper?” “It is—I have—I want,” I stammered. “Get it, and then we will have tea together, and chat.” When I returned, she was engaged in making tea. I ceremoniously placed the slipper on the table, and stood in the corner like a child awaiting punishment. I noticed that her brows were slightly contracted, and there was an expression of hardness and dominance about her lips which delighted me. All of a sudden she broke out laughing. “So—you are really in love—with me?” “Yes, and I suffer more from it than you can imagine?” “You suffer?” she laughed again. I was revolted, mortified, annihilated, but all this was quite useless. “Why?” she continued, “I like you, with all my heart.” She gave me her hand, and looked at me in the friendliest fashion. “And will you be my wife?” Wanda looked at me—how did she look at me? I think first of all with surprise, and then with a tinge of irony. “What has given you so much courage, all at once?” “Courage?” “Yes courage, to ask anyone to be your wife, and me in particular?” She lifted up the slipper. “Was it through a sudden friendship with this? But joking aside. Do you really wish to marry me?” “Yes.” “Well, Severin, that is a serious matter. I believe, you love me, and I care for you too, and what is more important each of us finds the other interesting. There is no danger that we would soon get bored, but, you know, I am a fickle person, and just for that reason I take marriage seriously. If I assume obligations, I want to be able to meet them. But I am afraid—no—it would hurt you.” “Please be perfectly frank with me,” I replied. “Well then honestly, I don’t believe I could love a man longer than—” She inclined her head gracefully to one side and mused. “A year.” “What do you imagine—a month perhaps.” “Not even me?” “Oh you—perhaps two.” “Two months!” I exclaimed. “Two months is very long.” “You go beyond antiquity, madame.” “You see, you cannot stand the truth.” Wanda walked across the room and leaned back against the fireplace, watching me and resting one of her arms on the mantelpiece.