"You must be famished, Mr. Langenau; pray go immediately to the
dining-room. I am sorry not to make your tea myself, but I hear Benny
waking and must go to him. Will you mind taking my place, Pauline, and
pouring out tea for Mr. Langenau?"

I was bending over the paper; my face turned suddenly from red to pale.
I said something inaudible in reply, and got up and went into the
dining-room, followed by the tutor.

It was several minutes before I looked at him. The servants had not
favored us with much light: there was a branch of wax candles in the
middle of the table. Mr. Langenau's plate was placed just at one side of
the tray, at which I had seated myself. He looked pale, even to his
lips. I began to think of the terrible walks in which he seemed to hunt
himself down, and to wonder what was the motive, though I had often
wondered that before. He took the cup of tea I offered him without
speaking. Neither of us spoke for several minutes, then I said, rather
irresolutely, "I am sure you tire yourself by these long walks."

"Do you think so? No: they rest me."

No doubt I felt more coquettish, and had more confidence than usual,
from the successes of that evening, and from the knowledge that Richard
and Kilian and Eugene Whitney, even, were so delighted to talk to me;
otherwise I could never have said what I said then, by a sudden impulse,
and with a half-laughing voice, "Do not go away again so long; it makes
it so dull and tiresome."

He looked at me and said, "It does not seem to me you miss me very