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Updated: June 15, 2025
You must not be down-hearted about it. Who is she? Tell me about her." "She's the sister of my great friend, Hermann Falbe," he said, "who teaches me music." This time the gladness faded from her. "Oh, my dear, it will vex your father again," she said, "that you should want to marry the sister of a music-teacher. It will never do to vex him again. Is she not a lady?" Michael laughed.
That wouldn't have made the smallest difference to my resolution." Falbe laughed. "And so you are rich, and yet go second-class," he said. "If I were rich I would make myself exceedingly comfortable. I like things that are good to eat and soft to touch. But I'm bound to say that I get on quite excellently without them.
The Heir Apparent of the Austrian Emperor has been murdered at Serajevo. Servian plot, apparently." "Oh, what a dreadful thing," said Mrs. Falbe, opening her book. "Poor man, what had he done?" Hermann took a cigarette, frowning. "It may be a match " he began. Mrs. Falbe diverted her attention from "Lady Ursula" for a moment.
It required, then, little debate, since all three were agreed, before Hermann was empowered with authority to make arrangements, and they remained simultaneously talking till Mrs. Falbe, again drifting in, announced that the bell for dinner had sounded some minutes before.
She felt he acquiesced in what she was intending to say. "That is good, then," she said. "I am glad you feel comfortable about it, mother dear. Now, will you read your book out here? Why not, if I fetch you a shawl in case you feel cold?" Mrs. Falbe turned a questioning eye to the motionless trees and the unclouded sky. "I don't think I shall even want a shawl, dear," she said.
Falbe passed into the house, and gave a hand on each side to Michael and Sylvia. "Ah, it was a good thing I just caught that train at Victoria nearly a year ago," he said. "If I had been five seconds later, I should have missed it, and so I should have missed my friend, and Sylvia would have missed hers, and Mike would have missed his. As it is, here we all are.
It's a sort of pride, I suppose. He will do as he thinks proper, and when he has thought, perhaps he will tell me what he intends." "But, then, how will you live?" asked Falbe. "Oh, I forgot to tell you that. I've got some money, quite a lot, I mean, from my grandmother. In some ways I rather wish I hadn't. It would have been a proof of sincerity to have become poor.
Living, as he had always done, in the rather formal and reticent atmosphere of his class and environment, he would have thought this fervour of patriotism in an English mouth ridiculous, or, if persevered in, merely bad form. Yet when Falbe hailed the Rhine and the spires of Cologne, it was clear that there was no bad form about it at all.
"I think I had better tell you," he said at length, "that I know you, that I've listened to you at least, at your sister's recital a few days ago." Falbe turned to him with the friendliest pleasure. "Ah! were you there?" he asked. "I hope you listened to her, then, not to me. She sang well, didn't she?" "But divinely. At the same time I did listen to you, especially in the French songs.
Then he had engaged in this tussle with refractory notes till he quite lost himself in what he was playing, and thought no more either of Falbe or the piano, but only of what the melody meant to him. But at the end, when he came to himself again, and sat with dropped hands waiting for Falbe's verdict, he remembered how his heart seemed to hang poised until it came.
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