But Gertrude only repeated, “I shall never see you again.  I shall never hear of you,” she went on.  “I shall know nothing about you.  I knew nothing about you before, and it will be the same again.”

“I knew nothing about you then, unfortunately,” said Felix.  “But now I shall write to you.”

“Don’t write to me.  I shall not answer you,” Gertrude declared.

“I should of course burn your letters,” said Felix.

Gertrude looked at him again.  “Burn my letters?  You sometimes say strange things.”

“They are not strange in themselves,” the young man answered.  “They are only strange as said to you.  You will come to Europe.”

“With whom shall I come?” She asked this question simply; she was very much in earnest.  Felix was interested in her earnestness; for some moments he hesitated.  “You can’t tell me that,” she pursued.  “You can’t say that I shall go with my father and my sister; you don’t believe that.”

“I shall keep your letters,” said Felix, presently, for all answer.

“I never write.  I don’t know how to write.”  Gertrude, for some time, said nothing more; and her companion, as he looked at her, wished it had not been “disloyal” to make love to the daughter of an old gentleman who had offered one hospitality.  The afternoon waned; the shadows stretched themselves; and the light grew deeper in the western sky.  Two persons appeared on the opposite side of the lake, coming from the house and crossing the meadow.  “It is Charlotte and Mr. Brand,” said Gertrude.  “They are coming over here.”  But Charlotte and Mr. Brand only came down to the edge of the water, and stood there, looking across; they made no motion to enter the boat that Felix had left at the mooring-place.  Felix waved his hat to them; it was too far to call.  They made no visible response, and they presently turned away and walked along the shore.

“Mr. Brand is not demonstrative,” said Felix.  “He is never demonstrative to me.  He sits silent, with his chin in his hand, looking at me.  Sometimes he looks away.  Your father tells me he is so eloquent; and I should like to hear him talk.  He looks like such a noble young man.  But with me he will never talk.  And yet I am so fond of listening to brilliant imagery!”

“He is very eloquent,” said Gertrude; “but he has no brilliant imagery.  I have heard him talk a great deal.  I knew that when they saw us they would not come over here.”

“Ah, he is making la cour, as they say, to your sister?  They desire to be alone?”

“No,” said Gertrude, gravely, “they have no such reason as that for being alone.”

“But why does n’t he make la cour to Charlotte?” Felix inquired.  “She is so pretty, so gentle, so good.”

Gertrude glanced at him, and then she looked at the distantly-seen couple they were discussing.  Mr. Brand and Charlotte were walking side by side.  They might have been a pair of lovers, and yet they might not.  “They think I should not be here,” said Gertrude.