and easy community were at
times inclined to resent a manifest difference, they succumbed to her
magnetism, and respected her obvious devotion to a high literary ideal.

It was during her second winter that she met Georg Zottmyer.

He was a tall, narrow, angular young man with a small clipped head and
preeminent ears. His narrow face was set with narrower features, and his
eyes were very bright, and the windows of his conceit. Although his
income was minute he boasted a father of note in the University of
Leipzig, and his mother had traveled and written a scathing satire on
the United States of America. He had not a grain of originality or
imagination, but he too was taking the course in dramatic art, and
reading for that degree without whose magic letters he could not hope to
take his place in the world of art to which his parts entitled him. He
met Gisela in the lecture room and immediately became her cavalier.

At first Gisela endeavored to get rid of him by an icy front, but this
he took for feminine coquetry and his own front was serene. As he had
made up his mind to be a dramatist merely because the career appealed
acutely to his itching ambition, so did he in due course make up his
mind to marry this handsome brunette (what hair he had was drab) who
bore all the earmarks of secret wealth in spite of the fact that she
lived in a small hotel. As time went on, Gisela resigned herself and put
his little ego under her microscope.

His wooing was methodical. He not only walked home with her after every
lecture, but he gave her a series of teas in his high little flat, and
he really did know "people." His parental introductions had given him
the entree to the professional circles, and he cultivated society both
semi-fashionable and ultra-literary. He knew no one who had not
"arrived."

He chose an unpropitious day for a tentative declaration of his
intentions. It was very cold. White mufflers protected his outstanding
ears, a gray woolen scarf was wound about his long neck and almost
covered his tight little mouth. He wore mitts and wristlets, and his
nose was crimson. Gisela, in a new set of furs, sent her for Christmas
by Mariette, and a smart gown of wine-colored cloth, looked radiant. Her
dark eyes shone with joy in the cold electric air of that high plateau,
her cheeks were red, her warm full-lipped mouth was parted over her even
white teeth. They walked from the University down the great
Leopoldstrasse, one