“You are always coming to tea nowadays, Robert,” he said.  “I should think you had drunk enough tea in China.”

“Since when is Mr. Acton more frequent?” asked the Baroness.

“Since you came,” said Clifford.  “It seems as if you were a kind of attraction.”

“I suppose I am a curiosity,” said the Baroness.  “Give me time and I will make you a salon.”

“It would fall to pieces after you go!” exclaimed Acton.

“Don’t talk about her going, in that familiar way,” Clifford said.  “It makes me feel gloomy.”

Mr. Wentworth glanced at his son, and taking note of these words, wondered if Felix had been teaching him, according to the programme he had sketched out, to make love to the wife of a German prince.

Charlotte came in late with Mr. Brand; but Gertrude, to whom, at least, Felix had taught something, looked in vain, in her face, for the traces of a guilty passion.  Mr. Brand sat down by Gertrude, and she presently asked him why they had not crossed the pond to join Felix and herself.

“It is cruel of you to ask me that,” he answered, very softly.  He had a large morsel of cake before him; but he fingered it without eating it.  “I sometimes think you are growing cruel,” he added.

Gertrude said nothing; she was afraid to speak.  There was a kind of rage in her heart; she felt as if she could easily persuade herself that she was persecuted.  She said to herself that it was quite right that she should not allow him to make her believe she was wrong.  She thought of what Felix had said to her; she wished indeed Mr. Brand would marry Charlotte.  She looked away from him and spoke no more.  Mr. Brand ended by eating his cake, while Felix sat opposite, describing to Mr. Wentworth the students’ duels at Heidelberg.  After tea they all dispersed themselves, as usual, upon the piazza and in the garden; and Mr. Brand drew near to Gertrude again.

“I did n’t come to you this afternoon because you were not alone,” he began; “because you were with a newer friend.”

“Felix?  He is an old friend by this time.”

Mr. Brand looked at the ground for some moments.  “I thought I was prepared to hear you speak in that way,” he resumed.  “But I find it very painful.”

“I don’t see what else I can say,” said Gertrude.

Mr. Brand walked beside her for a while in silence; Gertrude wished he would go away.  “He is certainly very accomplished.  But I think I ought to advise you.”

“To advise me?”

“I think I know your nature.”

“I think you don’t,” said Gertrude, with a soft laugh.

“You make yourself out worse than you are—­to please him,” Mr. Brand said, gently.

“Worse—­to please him?  What do you mean?” asked Gertrude, stopping.

Mr. Brand stopped also, and with the same soft straight-forwardness, “He does n’t care for the things you care for—­the great questions of life.”