ing it? Do you think I
did not see the furtive glances you exchanged with the Secretary? That
was a triumphant day of joy for me! I take you to the dance and--
CLARA.

You never stop saying things that hurt me! I looked at the Secretary,
why should I deny it? But only on account of the moustache he had grown
at the University, and which--

[_She checks herself_.]

LEONARD.

Becomes him so well--isn't that it? Isn't that what you started to say?
Oh, you women! Anything that looks like a soldier, even a caricature of
one, you like. To me the fop's ridiculous little oval face, with that
tuft of hair in the middle of it, looked like a little white rabbit
hiding behind a bush. I am bitter toward him--I won't try to conceal it.
He held me back from you long enough!

CLARA.

I didn't praise him, did I? You don't need to run him down!

LEONARD.

You still seem to take a lot of interest in him.

CLARA.

We used to play together as children, and afterward--you know very well!

LEONARD.

Oh yes, I know! And that's just why!

CLARA.

Then I think it was only natural, seeing him again for the first time
in a long while that way, for me to look at him and be astonished to see
how big and--[_She checks herself_.]

LEONARD.

Why did you blush then, when he looked back at you?

CLARA.

I thought he was looking at the little mole on my left cheek to see if
it, too, had grown bigger! You know I always imagine people are looking
at that when they stare at me so, and it always makes me blush. I have a
feeling as if it _were_ growing larger, as long as they look at it!

LEONARD.

However that may be, it got on my nerves, and I thought to myself: This
very evening I will put her to the test! If she wants to become my wife,
she knows that she risks nothing. If she says no, then--

CLARA.

Oh, you said a bad, bad word, when I pushed you back and jumped up from
the bench. The moon, which up to that time had shone in through the
foliage with such kindly consideration for me, at that moment sank
shrewdly behind the wet clouds. I wanted to hurry away, but felt
something holding me. At first I thought it was you, but it was the
rose-bush, whose thorns held my dress like teeth. You outraged my heart,
so that I no longer trusted it myself. You stood before me like one
demanding the payment of a debt! I--Oh, God!

[Illustration: ALFRED RETHEL DEATH AS CUP-BEARER]

LEONARD.

I cannot yet regret it. I knew it was the