There were more things that Frederick had to do.  He had to take apart a seaman’s clock, put it together again and hang it on the wall.  It was an antique that he had come across that very day and secured at a low price along with some furniture.  To his joy the old grandfather began to tick away at a proper, dignified pace on the wall at the foot of the bed.  There it was to remain in its brown case about three feet long until, as Frederick inwardly vowed, he would return it to its home in Europe, Schleswig-Holstein, for which it was pining.  When Frederick lay on his bed, he could see the yellow brass pendulum gleam back and forth behind a small glass door.  The dial was a curiosity.  It was painted in garish colors in a primitive style and represented a chubby-cheeked sun wearing the Island of Heligoland as a crown.  Below the face, little metal sailing vessels connected with the clockwork swayed back and forth in the same sober rhythm as the pendulum.  This was designed to make the tempest-tossed seafarer doubly sensible of the comforts of a solid hearth.

“When was it,” Frederick pondered, “that I listened to Mr. Garry’s cutting remarks, Mr. Samuelson’s unsuccessful attack, and Lilienfeld’s wild sally against Puritan intolerance—­a low, hypocritical battle ostensibly fought for the salvation of a soul; in reality nothing more than the clapperclawing of crows over a helpless hare.  When was it?  It must have been years ago.  But no, it was only last night that Ingigerd appeared in public for the first time.  So it cannot have been longer ago than day before yesterday.”

He had already received her first letter.  He had laughed over it heartily, and yet it had moved him.  She was furious and complained bitterly of his breach of faith.  In one and the same breath, she said she had been dreadfully deceived in him and had seen through him the very moment she laid eyes on him when he came up to speak to her after her dance in Berlin.  In one sentence she tore his character to shreds, in the next sentence urged him to return.

“I celebrated a tremendous triumph to-day.  The audience lost their heads.  After the performance Lord ——­ came up to congratulate me.  He is a handsome young Englishman, who is living over here because he had a falling out with his father.  But when the old man dies, he will inherit the title of duke and millions.”

“This story,” Frederick thought, “is either a true story or a concoction.  If a concoction, then I have reason to assume that the little girl wants to make me jealous and so has not lost interest in me.  But the story need not be an invention, either wholly or in part.  For if an invention, it will undoubtedly become a fact within three or four days, or, at the utmost, within a week.  Some rich rascal will come along and buy her.”

Frederick shrugged his shoulders.  He no longer felt the slightest impulse to be the girl’s protector, knight and saviour, or the faintest solicitude for her probable fate.