ought to be thoroughly weighed; that in fact the very position of
your affairs imposes certain obligations on every member of your
family ...'

'All that is mamma's opinion,' Gemma interposed; 'those are her words;
but what is your opinion?'

'Mine?' Sanin was silent for a while. He felt a lump rising in his
throat and catching at his breath. 'I too consider,' he began with an
effort ...

Gemma drew herself up. 'Too? You too?'

'Yes ... that is ...' Sanin was unable, positively unable to add a
single word more.

'Very well,' said Gemma. 'If you, as a friend, advise me to change my
decision--that is, not to change my former decision--I will think it
over.' Not knowing what she was doing, she began to tip the cherries
back from the plate into the basket.... 'Mamma hopes that I will mind
what you say. Well ... perhaps I really will mind what you say.'

'But excuse me, Fraeulein Gemma, I should like first to know what
reason impelled you ...'

'I will mind what you say,' Gemma repeated, her face right up to her
brows was working, her cheeks were white, she was biting her lower
lip. 'You have done so much for me, that I am bound to do as you wish;
bound to carry out your wishes. I will tell mamma ... I will think
again. Here she is, by the way, coming here.'