nose suspiciously. Kühnchen assured her it was, but in vain.
"In any case, you have read in the newspaper a novel by me, 'The Beloved Home,' and that is what I have now dramatised. My creations are all original work. Gentlemen"—she looked around her—"you will deny any malicious rumours to the contrary."
Thereupon Kühnchen was dismissed, and withdrew gasping. In a tone of condescending sympathy Diederich reminded him of Rothgroschen, who had gone off with his dangerous in formation, and Kiihnchen tore after him to prevent the worst.
When Diederich turned round again, the scene in the room had altered. Not only the Governor's wife, but old Buck was holding a reception. It was amazing, but one learnt to know people as they really are. They could not bear the idea that they had previously given free rein to their instincts. With expressions of regret one after another came up to the old gentleman, and tried to look as if they had done nothing. Even after deep convulsions, such was the power of what is, and what has long been accepted. Diederich himself found it advisable not to remain too noticeably in the rear of the majority. After he had made sure that Wulckow was gone, he went up to pay his compliments. The old man was just sitting alone in an armchair which had been placed for him right up in front near the stage. He let his white hand hang very gently over the arm and looked up at Diederich.
"There you are, my dear Hessling. I have often regretted that you never came"—he said it so simply and considerately that Diederich felt tears again coming immediately to his eyes. He gave him his hand and was glad when Herr Buck held it a little longer than was necessary. He began to stammer something about business, troubles and "to tell the honest truth"—for he was seized with a strong desire for honour—about doubts and fears.
"It is fine of you," said the old man, "not to let me guess that, but to confess it. You are young and are probably
