emed to the father that he could not quite rely on his son any
more now.

It was hardly noon when Wolfgang left the office again. He had
arranged to meet a couple of acquaintances in the Imperial Cafe not far
from the Linden; he would have to have something to eat, and
whether he had his lunch there or somewhere else was of no consequence;
a sandwich, which was all his father took with him from home, was not
sufficient for him after swimming and riding.

Then he showed himself again at the office for an hour in the
afternoon, but in his tennis clothes this time, in white shoes, a
racket in his hand.

When Wolfgang left the West End tennis-ground that afternoon, hot
and red--the games had been long and obstinate--and went across to the
Zoological Gardens' Station, he hesitated as he stood at the entrance
to it. He did not feel as if he wanted to go home at all. Should he not
drive into town again instead? As a matter of fact he did not feel
tempted to go into the streets either, which the drifting crowds made
still closer; it was better in the suburbs, where there was at least a
breath of fresh air blowing over the villa--but then he would have to
sit with his parents. And if his father were in just as bad a humour as
he had been at the office that morning, it would be awful. Then it
would be better to find some friend or other in Berlin. If only he had
not had his tennis suit on. That hindered him. He was still standing
undecided when he suddenly saw in the crowd that now, when work was
over and free-time come, was winding its way through the entrance to
the station like a long worm and dividing itself into arms to go up the
steps to the right and left, a mass of fair hair gleaming under a white
sailor-hat trimmed with a blue velvet band and pressed down on a
forehead, which seemed well-known to him. It was beautiful fair silky
hair, smooth and shining; carelessly arranged in an enormous knot to
all appearances, but in reality with much care. And now he recognised
the blue eyes and the pert little nose under the straw hat. Frida
Laemke! Oh, what a long time since he had seen her. He suddenly
remembered the hundreds of times he had neglected them. How little he
had troubled himself about those good people. That was very wrong of
him. And all at once it seemed to him that he had missed them always,
the whole time. He reached her side with one bound like an impetuous
boy, not noticing that he trod on a dress here and th