“Nonsense, a man always has time to get married,” declared Schoenau, just as dictatorially.

“Not in the country,” asserted Frau Regine.  “There something else must be considered; first work, then pleasure.  That’s always been the rule with us, and that’s what I’ve taught Will.”

“I trust he’d make an exception as regards his young wife; otherwise he’s little better than a milksop,” cried the forester, angrily.  “Above all, Regine, you must remember my stipulation.  My Toni has not seen your son for two years.  If he does not please her—­she has free choice, you understand.”

His speech touched his sister-in-law on her most sensitive point; her motherly pride was outraged.

“My dear Moritz, I have more confidence than you, apparently, in your daughter’s good taste.  As for the rest, I hold to the good old custom that children should marry whom their parents select.  It was that way in our day, and we have found no cause of complaint.  What do young people know of such serious matters any way?  But you have let your children have their own way from the very start; any one could soon tell that there was no mother in this house.”

“Well, was that my fault?” asked Schoenau, incensed.  “Perhaps, I ought to have given them a step-mother.  I suggested it to you once, but you wouldn’t hear of it, Regine.”

“No, I had been married once,” was the dry answer, and it seemed to increase the head forester’s irritation.  He shrugged his shoulders spitefully.

“Well, I certainly think you had no cause for complaint against poor Eschenhagen.  He, and all his people at Burgsdorf danced when you piped.  With me you would not have ordered the regiment about so easily.”

“In about four weeks,” Frau Regine declared calmly, “you would all have been under my command, Moritz.”

“What!  You say that to my face?  Well, I’d just like to prove it for once,” retorted Schoenau, full of wrath now.

“Thank you, I shouldn’t care to marry a second time, so give yourself no uneasiness.”

“I can assure you I didn’t mean an offer.  I wouldn’t think of such a thing for a moment.  One refusal was enough for me.  So you need not trouble giving me a second one.”

With these words the master of the house rose, pushed back his chair noisily, and left his guest abruptly.  Frau von Eschenhagen remained quietly sitting alone for some time, then she called out in a friendly tone: 

“Moritz.”

“What is it?” he growled from the other side of the terrace.

“When are Herbert and his young wife coming?”

“At twelve o’clock,” the voice had an ill-tempered ring yet.

“I am so glad.  I have not seen him since he was sent to the South German capital, but I have always maintained that Herbert was the pride of our family, and he keeps up enough state for us all.  Now you see he is Prussian ambassador at your court, and is ‘Your Excellency.’”