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as a giddy spendthrift and gambler. Hildegarde's father could not in the least understand why after her first winter in Berlin she returned home without a fiancé. He had so absolutely reckoned upon a wealthy son-in-law that the non-realisation of his hopes seemed to him like a terrible blow dealt him by Fate, and it was long before he recovered from it. But at last hope had sprung up once again in his heart, although there was really no prospect of anything for either him or his daughter. Hildegarde's brother also looked to her for deliverance; it surely must come one day, and he was so deeply in debt that he could only just keep his head above water by opportunely winning something at cards; but that could not go on for long. His rich relatives helped him now and again with £50 or so, but he never dreamed of using this for paying his debts, but usually gambled it away directly he got it. Whenever he was in a hole he would write to his sister: "Fulfil the hopes that are centred upon you; save us all, and do not be so haughty in your demands. It is true that the idea of a middle-class brother-in-law, who has probably never worn dress clothes and has moved in a quite different social circle, is abhorrent to me, still I'd put up with him if only he had money and was willing to help us."
Hildegarde scarcely ever read these letters nowadays, for she know beforehand what they contained. Her father was in the habit of saying exactly the same things when a bill came to the house, or her mother asked for money for housekeeping, or the servants demanded their wages. He always said on such occasions:
"Put away your aristocratic pride until you have got a husband. There are any number of rich middle-class men who would be only too delighted to get for their miserable money a beautiful and aristocratic wife who would introduce them into Society and give them a good social position. When you have got your husband then you can be as aristocratic as ever you like, in order to impress him, and the more you show what a sacrifice you made when you accepted him, the more he will love and honour you."
Hildegarde could scarcely restrain herself from crying out: "What am I to do? I can hardly do anything more than allow myself to be exhibited and admired. I can't very well actually offer myself to the men. I am often so terribly ashamed that I scarcely know how to endure such a life, and what you say seems horrible to me. I cannot understand how you can talk to me in this way; you ought to have more respect for your daughter than to do so. It's money, money, everlasting money; and to pay your debts I am to sell myself to the first best man who offers sufficient for my body."
On such occasions violent speeches were on the tip of her tongue, but she always restrained herself, for she knew what a terrible struggle her father had, and how he lay awake for hours racking his brains how to make both ends meet. When he had first left the army he had delayed trying to get an appointment, for then he considered it beneath his dignity to become the agent of an insurance company or something of the sort; now it was too late, and he was not young enough to get work. To the end of his life he was condemned to lead this miserable existence of an officer who had been pensioned early: there was neither career nor money for him. His wife suffered almost more than he did; she was an elegant, distinguished-looking woman, who longed to be back in Berlin and to share in the magnificent entertainments where she had been so much admired. A violent dispute had taken place between her and her husband when he retired to the provincial town; she would deny herself, she would put up with all kinds of deprivations, but she longed to breathe again the air she had formerly enjoyed. "Only wait a year or so until Hildegarde is married, and then we will go back again to Berlin," her husband had said to her again and again. And at last she had given in. At first she had firmly resolved to live very economically in the little town, but by degrees she was again the distinguished and elegant woman of society who could not alter her mode of living and her toilettes. She spoke to her daughter continually of her prospective marriage, and there were hours when she did not scruple to reproach her child violently: "How is it that other young girls, who are not nearly so beautiful and elegant as you, get married? You must be either very stand-offish or you must make it too apparent that you want to get married. Both attitudes are unsuitable."
Hildegarde suffered terribly from the speeches and all the family circumstances, but she suffered even more on account of the visits to her relatives. It is true it was a pleasure to be in a rich household once again, to hear nothing of money worries; but letters from her parents followed her to Berlin with the request that she should borrow money for them from their relatives. Then again the gaieties were quite spoiled for her, because every evening before going to bed her aunt used to say, "Has nothing of importance happened to-day?" And even if her aunt did not actually say this, and tried not to let her see what she felt, Hildegarde noticed that it was no longer a pleasure to her aunt to take her about, for she saw the uselessness of all her efforts, and would have preferred her niece not to have visited her again.
This year Hildegarde had determined not to go to Berlin; her pride and her vanity revolted against being a burden to her relatives again, and playing a despicable, yet pitiable, rôle. She had often noticed both the contemptuous and the sympathetic glances with which she had been greeted when she paid calls; some people privately joked at the idea of her not having given up thinking about a husband, others, knowing her straitened circumstances, felt sympathy for her.
"Under no circumstances will I go to Berlin this year," she declared to her parents. "I am too proud and too ashamed to exhibit myself again at all the parties, and yet get neither a lover nor a purchaser!"
The dispute lasted all day long, but at last her father, who was threatened with a warrant for distraint on account of a wine bill for five hundred marks, fell on his knees before her and begged her to save him. Then at last her opposition gave way. But she felt so wretched and miserable, so degraded and despondent, that during the long railway journey she constantly wept.
"My dear child, you have never before looked so out of sorts; what is the matter with you?" her aunt had asked her, and she had only been reassured when Hildegarde feigned a violent headache. Her aunt breathed more freely, but next morning and the following days Hildegarde's looks did not satisfy her, and it was impossible to conceal the fact that she was no longer the blooming young girl that she had been. Her aunt looked at her sympathetically, and more to herself than to her niece she said, "It's high time – high time!"
"Yes, it certainly is," chimed in Hildegarde, "for I cannot bear this life any longer. If I do not get engaged this time – and I am convinced I shall not– I am going to get a place as a governess or a companion, or something of the sort. This I know – I won't go home again."
"Hildegarde!" Frau von Warnow looked with utter astonishment at her niece, who was sitting opposite her. She was very pale, her eyes had dark rings underneath them, there were melancholy, despondent lines round her mouth. "Hildegarde, do think what you are saying. You, to take a place. You, a Wiedemann! that is quite impossible; on our account alone it would never do, and you must consider us."
Hildegarde did not answer, but her eyes expressed resolution and determination, and Frau von Warnow poured forth her fears to her husband. "Just fancy," she said, "Hildegarde is determined that this will be the last time she visits us, and she is capable of carrying out her determination; if she does so, it will be a serious reflection upon us, and people will reproach us with not having given her enough money. They will say, 'How can such rich people as the Warnows allow a near relative to take a situation and earn her own living.' People will think us cold and lacking in all decent feeling, and will say that even if Hildegarde could not have stayed at home, the proper place for her was with us."
Captain von Warnow looked indignant, and as a sign of his vexation he thrust out his underlip and twisted and twirled his faultlessly-pointed moustaches. "My dear Clara, pray spare me these matters; settle the affair with Hildegarde. I have more important things to think about – in a few days the major will be present at the drill, and, as you know, it may go off all right, but it may not."
"Quite so," his wife agreed. He did not perceive the irony of her words.
"Ah! I am glad you see that; then you will understand that at present I am more interested in the success of my men than whether Hildegarde accepts a post or not. You understand, don't you?"
His wife quite understood. For a long time her husband had been somewhat tired of acting as guardian to Hildegarde. He was very fond of her, but her family got on his nerves; he hated those perpetual begging-letters, but he always gave