Having made Minna happy in the anticipation of hearing from Fritz, I had
leisure to notice an old china punch-bowl on the table, filled to
overflowing with magnificent flowers. To anyone who knew Mr. Engelman as
well as I did, the punch-bowl suggested serious considerations. He, who
forbade the plucking of a single flower on ordinary occasions, must, with
his own hands, have seriously damaged the appearance of his beautiful
garden.

"What splendid flowers!" I said, feeling my way cautiously. "Mr. Engelman
himself might be envious of such a nosegay as that."

The widow's heavy eyelids drooped lower for a moment, in unconcealed
contempt for my simplicity.

"Do you really think you can mystify _me?"_ she asked ironically. "Mr.
Engelman has done more than send the flowers--he has written me a
too-flattering note. And I," she said, glancing carelessly at the
mantelpiece, on which a letter was placed, "have written the necessary
acknowledgment. It would be absurd to stand on ceremony with the harmless
old gentleman who met us on the bridge. How fat he is! and what a
wonderful pipe he carries--almost as fat as himself!"

Alas for Mr. Engelman! I could not resist saying a word in his favor--she
spoke of him with such cruelly sincere contempt.

"Though he only saw you for a moment," I said, "he is your ardent admirer
already."

"Is he indeed?" She was so utterly indifferent to Mr. Engelman's
admiration that she could hardly take the trouble to make that