" She actually did it, to Fanny's consternation.
"Ich hab' ihr das gelernt, Gnadige. Selbst. Ist es nicht
ganz entzuckend! Tante Fanny. Auch Shecago."
Fanny nodded a number of times, first up and down,
signifying assent, then sideways, signifying unbounded
wonder and admiration. She made a gigantic effort to summon
her forgotten German.
"Was ist Ihre Name?" she managed to ask.
"Otti."
"Oh, my!" exclaimed Fanny, weakly. "Mizzi and Otti. It
sounds like the first act of the `Merry Widow.'" She turned
to Theodore. "I wish you'd sit back, and relax, and if you
must clutch that violin case, do it more comfortably. I
don't want you to tell me a thing, now. New York is ghastly
in August. We'll get a train out of here to-morrow. My
apartment in Chicago is cool, and high, and quiet, and the
lake is in the front yard, practically. To-night, perhaps,
we'll talk about--things. And, oh, Teddy, how glad I
am to see you--to have you--to--" she put out a hand and
patted his thin cheek--"to touch you."
And at that the man became a boy again.
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