“And all of us,” repeated Fritz and put nothing of his explanation of the three words into his tone.  “I know that you always think of us all, so speak out merrily from your heart; I’ll do the same.”

Apollonius omitted his intended introduction.  He had learnt to be wise and cautious; but to be wise and cautious toward a brother would have seemed to him to be duplicity.  Even if he had known of his brother’s duplicity he, unlike the latter, would never have thought of meeting him with the same weapons.  Even in the face of his experience he would have persuaded himself that he was mistaken.

“I think, Fritz,” he, began cordially, “we should have been different toward each other from what we have been.”  He good-naturedly took half the blame on himself.  In his own mind his brother put the whole of it on him, and was about to assure him jovially of the contrary when Apollonius continued.  “Things have not been the same as they used to be between us, nor as they should be.  The reason for this, as far as I know, is only your wife’s dislike of me.  Or do you know of any other?”

“I know of none,” said his brother shrugging his shoulders regretfully; but he thought of Apollonius’ return against his advice, of the ball, of the conference in the church loft, of his being pushed aside in the matter of the repairs, of his brother’s whole plan, of that part of it that had been and of that part which was still to be carried out.  He thought that Apollonius was occupied only in trying to put it into execution, and of how much depended on his guessing Apollonius’ next intention and bringing it to naught.

While he was thinking this, Apollonius went on speaking, with no idea of what was passing in his brother’s mind.  “I do not know what it can be that has made your wife dislike me.  I only know that it cannot be anything that I have done intentionally.  Can you tell me what it is?  I do not want to accuse her; it is possible that there is something about me that displeases her.  And if so, then it is certainly nothing that should be praised or spared.  And I should be the very last to spare myself if I only knew what it is.  If you know, please tell me.  If it is anything bad you must not spare me, even if it should cause you pain to tell me.  If you know it and don’t tell me, that can be the only reason.  But you would not offend me by telling me, really, Fritz.”—­

Fritz Nettenmair did what Apollonius had just done; in his own mind he measured his brother by himself.  The result was bound to be to Apollonius’ disadvantage.  Apollonius took his thoughtful silence for an answer.

“If you do not know,” he went on, “let us go to her together and ask her.  I must know what I ought to do.  Our life cannot go on like this.  What would father say if he knew?  I reproach myself day and night that he does not know.  It is better for us all, Fritz.  Come, let us not put it off.”