He never speaks to her; he is at all times a man of few words, but,
as far as Minora is concerned, he might have no tongue at all,
and sits sphinx-like and impenetrable while she takes us to task
about some remark of a profane nature that we may have addressed to him.
One night, some days after her arrival, she developed a skittishness
of manner which has since disappeared, and tried to be playful with him;
but you might as well try to be playful with a graven image.
The wife of one of the servants had just produced a boy, the first
after a series of five daughters, and at dinner we drank the health
of all parties concerned, the Man of Wrath making the happy father drink
a glass off at one gulp, his heels well together in military fashion.
Minora thought the incident typical of German manners, and not only
made notes about it, but joined heartily in the health-drinking, and
afterward grew skittish.

She proposed, first of all, to teach us a dance called,
I think, the Washington Post, and which was, she said, much danced
in England; and, to induce us to learn, she played the tune
to us on the piano. We remained untouched by its beauties,
each buried in an easy-chair toasting our toes at the fire.
Amongst those toes were those of the Man of Wrath, who sat peaceably
reading a book and smoking. Minora volunteered to show us the steps,
and as we still did not move, danced solitary behind our chairs.
Irais did not even turn her head to look, and I was the only one
amiable or polite enough to do so. Do I deserve to be placed
in Minora's list of disagreeable people side by side with Irais?
Certainly not. Yet I most surely am.

"It wants the music, of course," observed Minora breathlessly,
darting in and out between the chairs, apparently addressing me,