Heilig did not answer this, nor did he heed the talk on love and marriage which the over-eager Sophie proceeded to give. And it was talk worth listening to, as it presented love and marriage in the interesting, romantic-sensible Avenue A light. Otto was staring gloomily at the shadow of the tree. He would have been gloomier could he have witnessed the scene to which the unmoral old elm was lending its impartial shade.
Mr. Feuerstein was holding Hilda's hand while he looked soulfully down into her eyes. She was returning his gaze, her eyes expressing all the Schwarmerei of which their dark depths were capable at nineteen. He was telling her what a high profession the actor's was, how great he was as an actor, how commonplace her life there, how beautiful he could make it if only he had money. It was an experience to hear Mr. Feuerstein say the word ``money.'' Elocution could go no further in surcharging five letters with contempt. His was one of those lofty natures that scorn all such matters of intimate concern to the humble, hard-pressed little human animal as food, clothing and shelter.
He so loathed money that he would not deign to work for it, and as rapidly as possible got rid of any that came into his possession.
``Yes, my adorable little princess,'' he rolled out, in the tones which wove a spell over Hilda. ``I adore you. How strange that _I_ should have wandered into THIS region for my soul's bride--and should have found her!''
Hilda pressed his clasping hand and her heart fluttered. But she was as silent and shy as Heilig with her. What words had she fit to express response to these exalted emotions? ``I--I feel it,'' she said timidly. ``But I can't say it to you. You must think me very foolish.''
``No--you need not speak. I know what you would say. Our hearts speak each to the other without words, my beautiful jewel. And what do you think your parents will say?''
``I--I don't know,'' stammered Hilda.
``They are so set on my marrying''--she glanced toward Otto--how ordinary he looked!--``marrying another--a merchant like my father. They think only of what is practical. I'm so afraid they won't understand--US.''
Feuerstein sighed--the darkness prevented her from seeing that he was also frowning with impatience and irritation.
``But it must be settled at once, my heart's bride,'' he said gently. ``Secrecy, deception are horrible to me. And I am mad to claim you as my own. I could not take you without their consent--that would be unworthy. No, I could not grieve their honest hearts!''
Hilda was much disturbed. She was eminently practical herself, aside from her fondness for romance, which Mr. Feuerstein was developing in a way so unnatural in her surroundings, so foreign to her education; and she could see just how her father would look upon her lover. She feared he would vent plain speech that would cut Mr. Feuerstein's sensitive soul and embattle his dignity and pride against his love. ``I'll speak to them as soon as I can,'' she said.
``Then you will speak to them to-morrow or next day, my treasure, and I shall see you on Sunday afternoon.''
``No--not Sunday afternoon. I must stay at home--father has ordered it.''
``Disappointment--deception-- postponement!'' Feuerstein struck his hand upon his brow and sighed tragically. ``Oh, my little Erebus-haired angel, how you do test my love!''
Hilda was almost in tears--it was all intensely real to her. She felt that he was superfine, that he suffered more than ordinary folk, like herself and her people. ``I'll do the best I can,'' she pleaded.
``It would be best for you to introduce them to me at once and let ME speak.''
``No--no,'' she protested earnestly, terror in her voice and her hand trembling in his. ``That would spoil everything. You wouldn't understand them, or they you. I'll speak--and see you Monday night.''
``Let it be so,'' he conceded. ``But I must depart. I am studying a new role.'' He had an engagement to take supper with several of his intimates at the Irving Place cafe, where he could throw aside the heaviest parts of his pose and give way to his appetite for beer and Schweizerkase sandwiches. ``How happy we shall be!'' he murmured tenderly, kissing her cheek and thinking how hard it was to be practical and keep remote benefits in mind when she was so beautiful and so tempting and so trustful. He said aloud: ``I am impatient, soul's delight! Is it strange?''
And he bowed like a stage courtier to a stage queen and left her.
She joined Sophie and Heilig and walked along in silence, Sophie between Otto and her. He caught glimpses of her face, and it made his heart ache and his courage faint to see the love-light in her eyes--and she as far away from him as Heaven from hell, far away in a world from which he was excluded. He and Sophie left her at her father's and he took Sophie home.
Sophie felt that she had done a fair evening's work--not progress, but progress in sight. ``At least,'' she reflected, ``he's seeing that he isn't in it with Hilda and never can be. I must hurry her on and get her married to that fool. A pair of fools!''
Heilig found his mother waiting up for him. As she saw his expression, anxiety left her face, but cast a deeper shadow over her heart. She felt his sorrow as keenly as he--she who would have laid down her life for him gladly.
``Don't lose heart, my big boy,'' she said, patting him on the shoulder as he bent to kiss her.
At this he dropped down beside her and hid his face in her lap and cried like the boy-man that he was. ``Ach, Gott, mother, I love her SO!'' he sobbed.
Her tears fell on the back of his head. Her boy--who had gone so bravely to work when the father was killed at his machine, leaving them penniless; her boy-- who had laughed and sung and whistled and diffused hope and courage and made her feel that the burden was not a burden but a joy for his strong, young shoulders.
``Courage, beloved!'' she said. ``Hilda is a good girl. All will yet be well.'' And she felt it--God would not be God if He could let this heart of gold be crushed to powder.
