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However that was, history was richer by a famous pair of lovers. But, just as there had been a Mrs. Wormser, so there was a Mrs. von Karlstadt. And it is this lady of whom I wish to speak. Mentally as well as physically Mara von Karlstadt did not belong to that class of persons which imperatively commands the attention of the public.
I won't be here always. And he says, 'Getting tired of me, are you, Ma? I guess maybe you're looking for a younger fellow. Only last night I said, at the table, 'Hugo, when are you going to get married? And he laughed. 'When I find somebody that can cook dumplings like these. Pass me another, Ma'." "That's all very well," said Mrs. Wormser.
Then it happened that the house of Wormser was shaken. It wasn't a serious breakdown, but among the good things that had to be thrown overboard belonged at the demand of the helping Frankforters Madame Nelson. And so she waited, like a virgin, for love, like a man in the weather bureau, for a given star. She felt that her star was yet to rise.
Wormser Ma Mandle lied magnificently. Their eager, merciless questions pierced her like knives, but she made placid answer: "Young folks are young folks. They do things different. I got my way. My son's wife has got hers." Their quick ears caught the familiar phrase. "It's hard, just the same," Mrs.
She was, after all, a rather wise old lady, and she knew something of men. She had a secret horror of his becoming what she called fast. "Why don't you take out some nice young girl instead of an old woman like me, Hugo? Any girl would be only too glad." But in her heart was a dread. She thought of Mrs. Lamb, Mrs. Wormser, and Mrs. Brunswick.
She rolled the three words on her tongue as though they were delicious morsels from which she would extract all possible savour and sweetness. And when she did this you could almost hear the click of the stiffening spines of Mrs. Lamb, Mrs. Brunswick, and Mrs. Wormser.
And in these drawing-rooms there were so many women whose husbands' affairs were the talk of the town. Even her predecessor, Mrs. Wormser, had passed over the expensive immorality of her husband with a self-sufficing smile and a condescending jest, and the world had bowed down to her respectfully, as it always does when scenting a temperament that it is powerless to wound.
But something of this she thought as she sat there in her plain white nightgown, her scant white locks pinned in a neat knob at the top of her head. Selfishness. That was it. They called it love, but it was selfishness. She must tell them about it to-morrow Mrs. Lamb, Mrs. Brunswick, and Mrs. Wormser. Only yesterday Mrs.
Wormser guarded his good repute carefully. He insisted that his illegitimate inclinations never lack the stamp of highest elegance. He desired that they be given the greatest possible publicity at race-meets and first nights. He didn't care if people spoke with a degree of rancour, if only he was connected with the temporary lady of his heart. Now, to be sure, there was a Mrs. Wormser.
Thus she laid the foundation of a goodly fortune, which was made to assume stately proportions by a tour through the United States, and was given a last touch of solidity by a successful speculation in Dresden real estate. Furthermore, it would be unjust to conceal the fact that her most recent admirer, the wool manufacturer Wormser, had a considerable share in this hurtling rise of her fortunes.
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