my lectures. I've come to make you my very humble apologies."
"What for?"
"Mevrouw, I'm a bear. I don't know how to talk to people. Forgive me . . . for what I said the other day."
"But what did you say?"
"Nothing—after your friendly encouragement—but what was rude."
"I have no great reverence for titles," she said, quickly.
She said it so suddenly and spontaneously that it surprised even herself; and she asked herself, the next second:
"Why do I say that? And is it true, now? Or is it not true?"
She herself did not know.
"You haven't, perhaps, but Hans has . . . But I was rude especially because, after you had asked me so kindly and graciously, I still would not talk about my life."
"But you were to do that when we knew each other better . . ."
"People never know each other well. Still . . ."
"What?"
"I don't know . . . May I tell you something about myself from time to time? Perhaps it won't interest you as much as, from politeness, you wish me to think; but . . . when I've done it . . . I
