"This certainly is not one of those cases," said Angela.
"The thing is surely very simple now."
"What makes it so simple?"
She hesitated a moment.
"The fact that I ask you to stay."
"You ask me?" he repeated, softly.
"Ah," she exclaimed, "one does n't say those things twice!"
She turned away, and they went back to her mother, who gave Bernard a wonderful little look of half urgent, half remonstrant inquiry.
As they left the garden he walked beside Mrs. Vivian, Angela going in front of them at a distance. The elder lady began immediately to talk to him of Gordon Wright.
"He 's not coming back for another week, you know," she said.
"I am sorry he stays away so long."
"Ah yes," Bernard answered, "it seems very long indeed."
And it had, in fact, seemed to him very long.
"I suppose he is always likely to have business," said Mrs. Vivian.
"You may be very sure it is not for his pleasure that he stays away."
"I know he is faithful to old friends," said Mrs. Vivian.
"I am sure he has not forgotten us."
"I certainly count upon that," Bernard exclaimed--"remembering him as we do!"
Mrs. Vivian glanced at him gratefully.
"Oh yes, we remember him--we remember him daily, hourly.
At least, I can speak for my daughter and myself. He has been so very kind to us." Bernard said nothing, and she went on.
"And you have been so very kind to us, too, Mr. Longueville.
I want so much to thank you."
"Oh no, don't!" said Bernard, frowning. "I would rather you should n't."
"Of course," Mrs. Vivian added, "I know it 's all on his account; but that makes me wish to thank you all the more. Let me express my gratitude, in advance, for the rest of the time, till he comes back.
That 's more responsibility than you bargained for," she said, with a little nervous laugh.
"Yes, it 's more than I bargained for. I am thinking of going away."
Mrs. Vivian almost gave a little jump, and then she paused on the Baden cobble-stones, looking up at him.
"If you must go, Mr. Longueville--don't sacrifice yourself!"
The exclamation fell upon Bernard's ear with a certain softly mocking cadence which was sufficient, however, to make this organ tingle.
"Oh, after all, you know," he said, as they walked on--"after all, you know, I am not like Wright--I have no business."
He walked with the ladies to the door of their lodging.
Angela kept always in front. She stood there, however, at the little confectioner's window until the others came up.
She let her mother pass in, and then she said to Bernard, looking at him--"Shall I see you again?"
"Some time, I hope."
"I mean--are you going away?"
Bernard looked for a moment at a little pink sugar cherub--a species of Cupid, with a gilded bow--which figured among the pastry-cook's enticements. Then he said--"I will come and tell you this evening."
And in the evening he went to tell her; she had mentioned during the walk in the garden of the Schloss that they should not go out.
As he approached Mrs. Vivian's door he saw a figure in a light dress standing in the little balcony. He stopped and looked up, and then the person in the light dress, leaning her hands on the railing, with her shoulders a little raised, bent over and looked down at him.
It was very dark, but even through the thick dusk he thought he perceived the finest brilliancy of Angela Vivian's smile.
"I shall not go away," he said, lifting his voice a little.
She made no answer; she only stood looking down at him through the warm dusk and smiling. He went into the house, and he remained at Baden-Baden till Gordon came back.
