"I suppose that is it. There are so many other things--"

"There should be nothing else," said Harz.

She broke in: "I don't want always to be thinking of myself. Suppose--"

"Ah! When you begin supposing!"

The girl confronted him; she had torn the sketch again.

"You mean that if it does not matter enough, one had better not do it at
all. I don't know if you are right--I think you are."

There was the sound of a nervous cough, and Harz saw behind him his
three visitors--Miss Naylor offering him her hand; Greta, flushed, with
a bunch of wild flowers, staring intently in his face; and the terrier,
sniffing at his trousers.

Miss Naylor broke an awkward silence.

"We wondered if you would still be here, Christian. I am sorry to
interrupt you--I was not aware that you knew Mr. Herr--"

"Harz is my name--we were just talking"

"About my sketch. Oh, Greta, you do tickle! Will you come and have
breakfast with us to-day, Herr Harz? It's our turn, you know."

Harz, glancing at his dusty clothes, excused himself.