Klaus Heinrich recognized the fact, and took pains to recover his self-control.
"You are at home here in a sense," added Mr. Spoelmann, cutting the conversation short, and a passing gleam of malice played round his clean-shaven mouth. Then he gave the others an example by sitting down. It was the chair between Imma and Klaus Heinrich, opposite the Countess and the veranda door, which the butler pushed under him.
As Mr. Spoelmann showed no intention of apologizing for his unpunctuality, Klaus Heinrich said: "I am sorry to hear that you were unwell this morning, Mr. Spoelmann. I hope you are better."
"Thanks, better, not but all right," answered Mr. Spoelmann crossly. "How many spoonfuls did you put in?" he asked his daughter. He was alluding to the tea.
She had filled his cup, and she handed it to him.
"Four," said she. "One for each person. Nobody shall say that I stint my grey-haired father."
"What's that?" answered Mr. Spoelmann. "I'm not grey-haired. You ought to have your tongue clipped." And he took from a silver box a kind of rusk which seemed to be his own special dainty, broke it and dipped it peevishly in the golden tea, which he, like his daughter, drank without milk or sugar.
Klaus Heinrich began over again: "I am much excited at the prospect of seeing your collection, Mr. Spoelmann."
"All right," answered Mr. Spoelmann. "So you want to see my glass? Are you an amateur? A collector perhaps?"
"No," said Klaus Heinrich, "my love for glass has not extended to my becoming a collector."
"No time?" asked Mr. Spoelmann. "Do your military duties take so much time?"
Klaus Heinrich answered: "I'm no longer on the
