the opera, the court, the life which had
been hers. She talked marvelously well, for she had all the charm
and vivacity of the true Viennese. Even the aborigines, bristling
pompadours, thick spectacles, terrifying manner, and all, became as dear
as old friends, now that I knew I must lose them.

The great, high-ceilinged room upstairs had taken on the look of home.
The Blue-beard closet no longer appalled me. The very purpleness of the
purple roses in the rug had grown beautiful in my eyes because they were
part of that little domain which spelled peace and comfort and kindness.
How could I live without the stout yellow brocade armchair! Its
plethoric curves were balm for my tired bones. Its great lap admitted
of sitting with knees crossed, Turk-fashion. Its cushioned back stopped
just at the point where the head found needed support. Its pudgy arms
offered rest for tired elbows; its yielding bosom was made for tired
backs. Given the padded comfort of that stout old chair--a friendly,
time-tried book between my fingers--a dish of ruddy apples twinkling in
the fire-light; my mundane soul snuggled in content. And then, too, the
book-in-the-making had grown in that room. It had developed from a weak,
wobbling uncertainty into a lusty full-blooded thing that grew and grew
until it promised soon to become mansize.

Now all this was to be changed. And I knew that I would miss the easy
German atmosphere of the place; the kindness they had shown me; the
chattering, admiring Minna; the taffy-colored dachshund; the aborigines
with their ill-smelling pipes and flappy slippers; the Wienerschnitzel;
the crushed-looking wives and the masterful German husbands; the very
darns in the table-cloths and the very nicks in the china.

We had a last family gathering in token of our appreciation of Herr and
Frau Knapf. And because I had not seen him for almost three weeks; and
because the time for his going was drawing so sickeningly near; and
because I was quite sure that I had myself in hand; and because he
knew the Knapfs, and was fond of them; and because-well, I invited Von
Gerhard. He came, and I found myself dangerously glad to see him, so
that I made my greeting as airy and frivolous as possible. Perhaps I
overdid the airy business, for Von Gerhard looked at me for a long,
silent minute, until the nonsense I had been chattering died on my lips,
and I found myself staring up at him like a child that is apprehensive
of being scolded f