improbability, too, about some of the colouring in her face, though it
was far from apparent that she was painted. Her hair, at all events,
was her own and was not dyed. And yet, though she possessed an
abundance of it, such as many a girl might have envied, it remained
utterly uninteresting and commonplace, for its faded straw-like colour
was not attractive to the eye, and it grew so awkwardly and so straight
as to put its possessor to much trouble in the arrangement of the
youthful ringlets she thought so becoming to her style. These, however,
she never relinquished under any circumstances whatever. Nevertheless,
at a certain distance and in a favourable light, the whole effect was
youngish, though one could not call it youthful, the more so as Frau
von Sigmundskron who sat beside her was, at little over forty, usually
taken for an old lady.

For some moments after they had all sat down, no one spoke. Then
Greifenstein suddenly straightened himself, as though an idea had
occurred to him, and bending stiffly forward in his seat, addressed his
cousin.

'It gives us the greatest pleasure to see you once more in our circle,'
he said emphatically.

Frau von Sigmundskron looked up from her fine needlework, and
gracefully inclined her head.

'You are very kind,' she answered. 'You know how happy we are to be
with you.'

'Ah, it is too, too delightful!' cried Frau von Greifenstein, with
sudden enthusiasm, covering the toy terrier with her hand at the same