not confess that I should have been glad to see it. But that is because I still cling to small things . . . while you are urged on by greater things. And, if it is really so, then I am proud of you, proud of you. You see, my darling, there's always that about your mother: her little bit of vanity. She is so glad that you did not inherit it . . . that perhaps she gave you other things—something very small, but the best she had—which may become very great in you, an atom which in you will grow into a world . . . No, I am not disappointed any longer. . . ."
"You see, Mamma, I feel it so clearly when I am alone with Uncle Ernst: not that I can do anything yet, but I am certain that I shall be able to, later. . . . I feel that, if he were to come a fraction of an inch towards me . . . and if I had the power to go another fraction of an inch towards him, we should get near to each other, he and I. . . . It doesn't happen now; but I feel ever so clearly that I am looking for something in him, the secret spot from which I could cure him if . . . if I was older, more advanced and stronger. . . ."
But he pulled himself up:
"Perhaps it's better not to say that."
"Why not, dear?"
"One shouldn't say those very private things. . . . But I wanted to talk quite frankly to you. . . ."
"You have, darling. Don't force your words, if
