(For the first time Erna betrays a personal interest.)
Burris.—It never even occurred to me in my dreams, baron.
(Bara brings on the first course.)
Rudolph.—May I suggest that we chuck the baron and lord stuff under the table? At least while you are wearing your uniform. We of the cavalry are somewhat hard-bitted, but we know how to treat a real soldier.
Erna.—If you please, sir. (Passes him his plate.)
Burris.—As you will. I shall try to bear up under it for the rest of the day. But I want you to know that I am looking forward to my humble business outfit. Early in the morning I shall discard these trappings, put on my managerial jacket, and off to the fields! I foresee that it will be a tough job. Last year we had five spans of horses, and now the cavalry has left us only three.
Lena (With a sigh)—So you have learned that already?
Burris.—God forbid that I should presume to reflect upon your highness. I can imagine the need of selling . . . the expenses that followed the death of the old master, which needs called for drawing on our live capital.
Rudolph (Unpleasantly touched).—Let’s forget it for tonight. Tomorrow we get three spans of military remounts as indemnity.
Burris.—That’s a dear compensation. It would take six pairs of their superannuated nags to pay for two of ours. It takes a real horse to budge a plow in this year’s soil. They may not relish our sour hay, either.
Erna.—You’ll get me peeved, gentlemen, if you don’t quit talking business. Rudy, you know that Mr. Burris can put it all over you in matters of farming. Besides, I don’t think you can talk much about matters here without encroaching on Lena’s preserves.
Lena.—Where did this sudden delicacy spring from?
(She tries to ward Rudolph’s cigarette smoke from her eyes.)
(There is a slight pause. Rudolph finishes his cigarette and regards the smouldering stump with a cloudy forehead. After swallowing a few spoonfuls of soup, he puts the spoon down and does not eat more.) (Bara comes in with the second course.)
Erna.—Bara, leave the kitchen door open, lest we freeze in the dining room of Harshaw—a venerable castle, but a trifle holy.
Burris.—Begging your pardon, Miss, Harshaw is as snug as a cage.
