Did she love him? There were many answers to
that. She seemed pleased when she saw him, and displeased if he
appeared to forget her for a day. But what he could not understand
was that her head seemed as full as ever of her usual acquaintances,
and that she was capable of spending some time in theaters,
concerts, and society without looking for him. Full too of talk of
her frocks and neighbors, without wishing to interrupt the empty
gossip with a look or a kiss to let him know that she was conscious
of his presence, and in the middle of her idle talk to say
nevertheless that her heart was with him. On the other hand, she
showed the tenderest sympathy for him. She longed for a picture of
his rooms in the Dorotheenstrasse, where he lived and thought of
her. She had been to see his house in the Kochstrasse from the
outside. She was apparently proud of him, and repeated to him all
the flattering remarks which people made on his appearance and
cleverness, with as much satisfaction, as if she spoke of one of her
own people. Still all this was only on the surface, and he often had
the impression that her feeling for him was weakened at its
foundation both by her cold intelligence, and by her pleasure in
worldly things.
And he? Did he love her as he should, before he had the right to
bind her to him for life? His earnestness and exalted morality
looked upon marriage as a rash adventure full of alarming secrets.
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