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Don't you see? Eyes and appreciation and every decent
thing I take from you. Where did you get it all, Ernestine?"
She pushed back a little curl which was always coming loose,--he loved
that little curl for always coming loose.
"Perhaps I 'got it' from that way you have of looking at me--the way
you're looking at me now; or maybe I got it from the way you say
'Ernestine'--the way you said it just now. But does it matter much what
comes from which?"--with which bit of lucidity she wrinkled up her nose
at him in a way which always vanquished argument and returned to the
silence which seemed waiting to claim her.
He watched her then; he loved so to do that--just see how far he could
follow. Ernestine seemed to draw things to her in a way very wonderful to
him.
"You know, liebchen,"--as he saw that steady light of resolution shine
through the veil of her tenderness--"it seems so queer to me that you
really _do_ anything."
"Well for a neatly turned compliment--"
"I mean it seems so queer you should really _amount_ to anything.


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