at infinitely little importance it was, now; and yet
she had been very strenuous about it at the time, inclined to resist and
struggle, taking it over-much to heart, acting as though it were always
going to be there. Oh, she would be wise in future, enjoying all there
was to enjoy, loving all there was to love, and shutting her eyes to the
rest. She would not, for instance, expect more from her Chosen than
they, being as they were, could give. Obviously they could not give her
more than they possessed, either of love, or comprehension, or
charitableness, or anything else that was precious; and it was because
she looked for more that she was for ever feeling disappointed. She
would take them as they were, being happy in what they did give her, and
ignoring what was less excellent. She herself was irritating, she was
sure, and often she saw did produce an irritating effect on the Chosen.
Of sundry minor failings, so minor that she was ashamed of having
noticed them, but which had yet done much towards making the days
difficult, she tried not to think. Indeed, they could hardly be made the
subject of resolutions at all, they were so very trivial. They included
a habit Frau von Treumann had of shutting every window and door that
stood open, whatever the weather was, and however pointedly the others
gasped for air; the exceedingly odd behaviour, forced upon her notice
four times a day, of Fraeulein Kuhraeuber at table; and an insatiable
curiosity displayed by the baroness in regard to other people's
correspondence and servants--every postcard she read, every envelope she
examined, every telegram, for some always plausible reason, she thought
it her duty to open: and her interest in the doings of the maids was
unquenchable. "These are little ways," thought Anna, "that don't
matter." And she thought it impatiently, for the little ways persisted
in obtruding themselves on her remembrance in the middle of her fine
plans of future wisdom. "If we could all get outside our bodies, even
for one day, and simply go about in our souls, how nice it would be!"
she sighed; but meanwhile the souls of the Chosen were still enveloped
in aggressive bodies that continued to shut windows, open telegrams, and
convey food into their mouths on knives.

The one belonging to Frau von Treumann was at that moment engaged in
writing with feverish haste to Karlchen, bidding him lose no time in
coming, for mischief was afoot, and Anna was showing an alarm