“There, tante,” cried Yolanda, turning triumphantly to Frau Kate, “you hear what uncle says.  Now you see the great reason for having him here—­this Sir Max and his friend.  But, uncle, if you think I mean to make a fool of myself about this man, put the notion out of your head.  I know only too well the barrier between us, but, uncle mine,” she continued pleadingly, all her wonted joyousness driven from her face, “I am so wretched, so unhappy.  If I may have a moment of joy now, for the love of the Blessed Virgin don’t deny me.  I sometimes think you love me chiefly because I so truly deserve your pity.  As for this young man, he is gentle, strong, and good, and, as you say, he certainly is good to look upon.  Twonette knows that, don’t you, Twonette?  He is wise, too, and brave, even against the impulse of his own great heart.  He thinks only of my good and his own duties.  I am in no danger from him, uncle.  He can do me only good.  I shall be happier and better all my life long for having known him.  Now, uncle?”

“I will fetch him,” exclaimed Castleman, seeking his hat.  “You may be right or you may be wrong, but for persuasiveness I never saw your like.  I declare, Yolanda, you have almost made me feel like a villain for refusing you.”

“I wish the world were filled with such villains, uncle.  Don’t you, tante?” said Yolanda, beaming upon the burgher.

“No,” answered the frau, “I should want them all for my husbands.”

“God forbid!” cried Yolanda, lifting her hands as she turned toward the door, laughing once more.  “Tell them to be here by six o’clock, uncle.  No! we will say five.  Tell them to come on the stroke of five.  No! four o’clock is better; then we will sup at six, and have an hour or two before we eat.  That’s it, uncle; have them here by four.  Tell them to fail not by so much as a minute, upon their allegiance.  Tell them to be here promptly on the stroke of four.”

She ran from the room singing, and Castleman started toward the front door.

“The girl makes a fool of me whenever she wishes,” he observed, pausing and turning toward his wife.  “She coaxed me to take her to Basel, and life was a burden till I got her home again.  Now she winds me around her finger and says, ‘Uncle Castleman, obey me,’ and I obey.  Truly, there never was in all the world such another coaxing, persuasive little witch as our Yolanda.”

“Poor child,” said Frau Kate, as her husband passed out of the door.

Castleman reached The Mitre near the hour of one, and of course did not find us.  At half-past four, Yolanda entered the great oak room where Twonette and Frau Kate were stitching tapestry.

“Where suppose you Sir Max is—­and Sir Karl?” asked Yolanda, with a touch of anger in her voice.  “Why has he not come?  I have been watching but have not seen him—­them.  He places little value on our invitation to slight it by half an hour.  I am of half a mind not to see him when he comes.”