"
"A big thing not easily moved," she suggested, looking up with her
dauntless smile.
He shrugged his great shoulders.
"It may be--who knows? I hope it is," he answered.
"The worst of those big things is that they are sometimes in the way,"
said Etta reflectively, without looking at him.
"And yet the life that is only a conglomeration of trifles is a poor
life to look back upon."
"Meaning mine?" she asked.
"Your life has not been trifling," he said gravely.
She looked up at him, and then for some moments kept silence while she
idly opened and shut her fan. There was in the immediate vicinity of
Karl Steinmetz a sort of atmosphere of sympathy which had the effect of
compelling confidence. Even Etta was affected by it. During the silence
recorded she was quelling a sudden desire to say things to this man
which she had never said to any. She only succeeded in part.
"Do you ever feel an unaccountable sensation of dread," she asked, with
a weary little laugh; "a sort of foreboding with nothing definite to
forebode?"
"Unaccountable--no," replied Steinmetz. "But then I am a German--and
stout, which may make a difference. I have no nerves."
He looked into the fire through his benevolent gold-rimmed spectacles.
"Is it nerves--or is it Petersburg?" she asked abruptly. "I think it is
Petersburg.
Pages:
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210