"Wait! You must not question me, mine liebschen; but, someday it may
be that I shall no longer flute-play in a garden. Someday, maybe,
things are better with us. You must wait a while, to see if that comes
true. Then--then, when it _is_ true, I pick out for you, ach! the
handsomest, the bravest gentleman that I can find. I bring him to you,
and I say: 'Anna, you love him!' That is all."

She was dismayed. This was not to her taste at all! "But father--"

The old German in his worry lest the life that she must lead as the
companion to the rich New Yorker might induce her to let down the
barriers of the exclusiveness which that which he could not, at
present name, implanted in his very soul, looked sternly at her. He
wished, now, to end the talk of it. "That, Anna," he said gravely,
"that is all."

"But you tell me you will pick him out and bring him to me! Must he
not love me?"

This again made him forget a little. It brought back other vivid
memories of those bygone days when, young and ardent, he had gone to
this girl's mother with his heart aflame.

"Love you? Yah; of course he loves you. You think love is a game of
solitaire? But--he _will_ love you, liebschen. To fall very much in
love with you he has only once to see you. But, Anna, it is not with
women as it is with men. _You_ must _conceal_ your love, until he
speaks."

She smiled. "And, father, what shall I do then?"