gret (the friends couldn't hear them), but, as she took out
her handkerchief and held it to her cheek, they concluded she was
pretending to have toothache; and therefore it struck them as strange
that her father--who had a somewhat caricature-like face of irony on
him--made funny grimaces, and laughed heartily.

"Neither Alexander, Severin, nor Marzell had said a word, but kept
their eyes riveted on the lovely creature who had suffered such a
bitter sorrow. The boy now came and sat down, and his sister changed
her place so that her back was turned to our friends. This broke the
spell, and Alexander, standing up, and tapping Severin on the shoulder,
said:

"'Well, friend Severin, what has become of your prescience in the shape
of a flower; and of Nettelmann, my aunt, and all the other subjects we
were discussing so profoundly? What is this apparition which has tied
our tongues and amazed our eyes?'

"'One remark I will make,' said Marzell with a heavy sigh, 'to wit,
that that poor girl there is the most divinely and exquisitely
beautiful creature that ever I beheld.'

"'Oh!' said Severin, sighing more deeply than Marzell; 'and to think
that this lovely darling is under the burden of some terrible sorrow!'

"'Ay,' said Marzell, and has probably just received a crushing blow.'

"Exactly,' said Alexander. 'What I wish to goodness is, that I could
get hold of that great, awkward-looking lout of a fellow who gave her
the letter. If I could only give him a good hiding, I should feel
relieved in my mind. Of course it was he whom she was expecting to meet
here; and, instead of joining the family party, like a man, he has gone
and handed her some boshy letter telling her he couldn't come. Some
preposterous piece of jealousy, I suppose; some lover's quarrel or
another.'

"Marzell interrupted him impatiently. 'How little you know the world!
Your hiding would fall upon the shoulders (temptingly broad they are, I
admit) of an innocent, inoffensive messenger. You could see that in the
silly smile of him, in his whole manner, even in his walk. He was only
the letter-carrier, not the letter-writer. You may do what you like,
but if you hand a person a letter of your own writing, the contents of
it are legible in your face. At all events your face is always a
condensed "summary" of the full official report inside. Nothing but the
most cruel irony (easily recognisable into the bargain) would have made
a man give the woman he loved