AN ARRIVAL.
When the major reached this point in his niece's memoirs, he rubbed his
forehead thoughtfully. "H'm!" he murmured; "why must people marry
because they love each other? By Jove! On the whole, it is well that I
now have some idea of what is going on in that insane little head."
After this wise the major quieted his scruples as to the unpardonable
indiscretion he had committed.
The reading of Zdena's extraordinary production had so absorbed his
attention that he had failed to hear the approach of some heavy vehicle
which had drawn up before the castle, or the rhythmic beat of the hoofs
of two riding-horses. Now he was suddenly startled by a firm step to
the accompaniment of a low jingling sound in the corridor outside his
room-door, at which there came a knock.
"Come in!" he called out.
A young officer of hussars in a blue undress uniform entered.
"Harry! is it you?" the major exclaimed, cordially. "Let me have a look
at you! What has put it into your head to drop down upon us so
unexpectedly, like the _deus ex machina_ in the fifth act of a
melodrama?"
The young fellow blushed slightly. "I wanted to surprise you," he said,
laughing, in some confusion.
"And you will stay a while with us? How long is your leave?"
"Six weeks."
"That's right. And you're glad to be at home once more?" said the
major, smiling broadly, and rubbing his hands.
He seemed to his nephew to be rather _distrait_, which he certainly
was, for all the while he was thinking of matters of which no mention
was made.
"My uncle has either been taking a glass too much or he has drawn the
first prize in a lottery," Harry thought to himself as he said, aloud,
"Hedwig has just come over, and Aunt Melanie."
"Ah, the Zriny: has she quartered herself upon you?" the major asked,
with something of a drawl.
"I escorted her here from Vienna. Aunt Rosamunda deputed me to inform
you of our relative's arrival, and to beg you to come immediately to
the drawing-room."
"H'm, h'm!--I'll go, I'll go," murmured the major, and he left the room
apparently not very well pleased. In the corridor he suddenly turned to
his nephew, who was following at his heels. "Have you seen Zdena yet?"
he asked, with a merry twinkle of his eye.
"N--o."
"Well, go find her."
"Where shall I look for her?"
"In the garden, in the honeysuckle arbour. She is posing for her
elderly adorer that he may paint her as Zephyr, or Flora, or something
of the kind."
"Her elderly adorer? Who is he?" Harry asked, with a frown, his voice
sounding hard and sharp.
"A cousin of my wife's, Baron Wenkendorf is his name, an enormously
rich old bachelor, and head over ears in love with our girl. He calls
himself a painter, in spite of his wealth, and he has induced the child
to stand for some picture for him. He makes love to her, I suppose,
while she poses."
"And she--what has she to say to his homage?" asked Harry, feeling as
if some one were choking him.
"Oh, she's tolerably condescending. She does not object to being made
love to a little. He is an agreeable man in spite of his forty-six
years, and it certainly would be an excellent match."
As the major finished his sentence with an expression of countenance
which Harry could not understand, the paths of the two men separated.
Harry hurried down into the garden; the major walked along the corridor
to the drawing-room door.
"H'm! I have warmed him up," the major said to himself; "'twill do no
harm if they quarrel a little, those two children: it will bring the
little goose to her senses all the sooner. There is only _one_ healthy
solution for the entire problem. You----!" he shook his forefinger at
the empty air. "Why must people marry because they love each other?
Only wait, you ultrasensible little goose; I will remind you of that
one of these days."