"Not at all," I growled. "What right have I to be angry?"
"Does Herr Jack wish Gretchen always to be sad?"
"Certainly not: but sometimes your joy is irritating. You are sad all
day, then some strangers come, and you are all smiles. Your smiles do
not come in my direction as often as I should like."
"Well, then, look at me," said Gretchen.
The smile would have dazzled an anchorite, let alone a man who didn't
know whether he loved her for certain, but who was willing to give odds
that he did!
"Gretchen!" I cried, starting toward her.
But with a low laugh she disappeared behind the door. Gretchen was a
woman. As a man must have his tobacco, so must a woman have her
coquetry. It was rather unfair of Gretchen, after what I had promised.
It was like getting one in a cage and then offering sweetmeats at a
safe distance.
It now became a question of analysis. So I went to the river and sat
down in the grass. A gentle wind was stirring the leaves, and the
sunbeams, filtering through the boughs, fell upon the ground in golden
snowflakes. What was Gretchen to me that I should grow jealous of her
smiles? The night before I could have sworn that I loved her; now I
was not so sure.
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