"Thanks," said I. "It dropped from my window last night, while I was
playing the disgraceful part of eavesdropper." I dare say she had
expected anything but this candid confession. It was very cunning in
me. She knew that I knew she knew. Had I lied I should have committed
an irreparable blunder.
As it was she lifted her chin and laughed.
"Will you forgive me?"
"Yes; for you certainly wasted your time."
"Yes, indeed; for I am just as much in the dark as ever."
"And will remain so."
"I hope so. A mystery is charming while it lasts. Really, Gretchen, I
did not mean to play the listener, and I promise that from now on----"
"From now on!" cried Gretchen. "Does not Herr leave to-day?"
"No; I am going to spend a whole week here."
There was a mixture of dismay and anger in her gaze.
"But, as I was going to say, I shall make no effort to pry into your
affairs. Honestly, I am a gentleman."
"I shall try to believe you," said she, the corners of her mouth
broadening into a smile.
She condescended to show me through the rose gardens and tell me what
she knew about them. It was an interesting lecture. And in the
evening she permitted me to row her about the river. We were getting
on very well under the circumstances.
The week was soon gone, and Gretchen and I became very good friends.
Often when she had nothing to do we would wander along the river
through the forests, always, I noticed, by a route which took us away
from the village. Each day I discovered some new accomplishment.
Sometimes I would read Heine or Goethe to her, and she would grow rapt
and silent. In the midst of some murmurous stanza I would suddenly
stop, only to see her start and look at me as though I had committed a
sacrilege, in that I had spoiled some dream of hers. Then again I
myself would become lost in dreams, to be aroused by a soft voice
saying: "Well, why do you not go on?" Two people of the opposite sexes
reading poetry in the woods is a solemn matter. This is not
appreciated at the time, however. It comes back afterward.
In all the week I had learned nothing except that Gretchen was not what
she pretended to be. But I feared to ask questions. They might have
spoiled all. And the life was so new to me, so quiet and peaceful,
with the glamour of romance over it all, that I believe I could have
stayed on forever. And somehow Phyllis was fading away, slowly but
surely. The regret with which I had heretofore looked upon her
portrait was lessening each day; from active to passive. And yet, was
it because Gretchen was Phyllis in the ideal? Was I falling in love
with Gretchen because she was Gretchen, or was my love for Phyllis
simply renewing itself in Gretchen? Was that the reason why the
portrait of Phyllis grew less holding and interesting to me? It was a
complex situation; one I frowned over when alone. It was becoming
plainer to me every hour that I had a mystery all of my own to solve.
And Gretchen was the only one to solve it.