missory note on Dorothea. Doederlein
had placed himself under obligations, and was consequently determined to
carry out his plans with regard to the marriage of his daughter.

But Dorothea's behaviour made it safe to predict that objections would
be raised on her part. Doederlein was in trouble; he sought distraction.
Sixteen years ago he had begun an _opus_ entitled "All Souls: a
Symphonic Picture." Five pages of the score had been written, and since
then he had never undertaken creative work. He rummaged around in his
desk, found the score, went to the piano, and tried to take up the
thread where he had lost it sixteen years ago. He tried to imagine the
intervening time merely as a pause, an afternoon siesta.

It would not go. He sighed. He sat before the instrument, and stared at
the paper like a schoolboy who has a problem to solve but has forgotten
the rule. He seemed to lament the loss of his artistic ability. He felt
so hollow. The notes grinned at him; they mocked him. His thoughts
turned involuntarily to the miller. He improvised for a while. Dorothea
stuck her head in the door and sang: "Rhinegold, Rhinegold, pu-re gold."

He was enraged; he got up, slammed the lid of the piano, took his hat
and top coat, left the house, and went out to see his friend in the
suburbs.

When he returned that night, he saw Dorothea standing in the door with a
man. It was the actor, Edmund Hahn. They were carrying on a heated
conversation in whispers. The man was holding Dorothea by the arm, but
when Doederlein became visible from the unlighted street, he uttered an
ugly oath and quickly disappeared.

Dorothea looked her father straight, and impudently, in the face, and
followed him into the dark house.

When they were upstairs and had lighted the lamp, Doederlein turned to
her, and asked her threateningly: "What do you mean by these immodest
associations? Tell me! I want an answer!"

"I don't want to marry your flour sack. That's my answer," said
Dorothea, with a defiant toss of her head.

"Well, we'll see," said Doederlein, pale with rage and ploughing through
his hair with his fingers, "we'll see. Get out of here! I have no desire
to lose my well-earned sleep on account of such an ungrateful hussy.
We'll take up the subject again to-morrow morning."

The next morning Dorothea hastened to Herr Carovius. "Uncle," she
stammered, "he wants to marry me to that flour sack."

"Yes? Well, I suppose I'll have to visit that se