“This is the first time Herr Allitsen has ever brought a friend,” she said.  “He has always been alone.  Fraeulein is betrothed to Herr Allitsen—­ is that so?  Ah, I am glad.  He is so good and, so kind.”

Bernardine stopped drinking her coffee.

“No, I am not betrothed,” she said cheerily.  “We are just friends; and not always that either.  We quarrel.”

“All lovers do that,” persisted Frau Steinhart triumphantly.

“Well, you ask him yourself,” said Bernardine, much amused.  She had never looked upon Robert Allitsen in that light before.  “See, there he comes!”

Bernardine was not present at the court martial, but this was what occurred.  Whilst the Disagreeable Man was paying the reckoning, Frau Steinhart said in her most motherly tones: 

“Fraeulein is a very dear young lady:  Herr Allitsen has made a wise choice.  He is betrothed at last!”

The Disagreeable Man stopped counting out the money.

“Stupid old Frau Steinhart!” he said good-naturedly.  “People like myself don’t get betrothed.  We get buried instead!”

“Na, na!” she answered.  “What a thing to say—­and so unlike you too!  No, but tell me!”

“Well, I am telling you the truth,” he replied.  “If you won’t believe me, ask Fraeulein herself.”

“I have asked her,” said Frau Steinhart, “and she told me to ask you.”

The Disagreeable Man was much amused.  He had never thought of Bernardine in that way.

He paid the bill, and then did something which rather astonished Frau Steinhart, and half convinced her.

He took the bill to Bernardine, told her the amount of her share, and she repaid him then and there.

There was a twinkle in her eye as she looked up at him.  Then the composure of her features relaxed, and she laughed.

He laughed too, but no comment was made upon the episode.  Then began the goodbyes, and the preparations for the return journey.

Bernardine bent over Catharina, and kissed her sad face.

“Fraeulein will come again?” she whispered eagerly.

And Bernardine promised.  There was something in Bernardine’s manner which had won the poor girl’s fancy:  some unspoken sympathy, some quiet geniality.

Just as they were starting, Frau Steinhart whispered to Robert Allitsen: 

“It is a little disappointing to me, Herr Allitsen.  I did so hope you were betrothed.”

August, the blue-spectacled driver, cracked his whip, and of the horses started homewards.

For some time there was no conversation between the two occupants of the sledge.  Bernardine, was busy thinking about the experiences of the day, and the Disagreeable Man seemed in a brown study.  At last he broke the silence by asking her how she liked his friends, and what she thought of Swiss home life; and so the time passed pleasantly.

He looked at her once, and said she seemed cold.