As time went on, Gisela resigned herself and put
his little ego under her microscope.
His wooing was methodical. He not only walked home with her after every
lecture, but he gave her a series of teas in his high little flat, and
he really did know "people." His parental introductions had given him
the entree to the professional circles, and he cultivated society both
semi-fashionable and ultra-literary. He knew no one who had not
"arrived."
He chose an unpropitious day for a tentative declaration of his
intentions. It was very cold. White mufflers protected his outstanding
ears, a gray woolen scarf was wound about his long neck and almost
covered his tight little mouth. He wore mitts and wristlets, and his
nose was crimson. Gisela, in a new set of furs, sent her for Christmas
by Mariette, and a smart gown of wine-colored cloth, looked radiant. Her
dark eyes shone with joy in the cold electric air of that high plateau,
her cheeks were red, her warm full-lipped mouth was parted over her even
white teeth. They walked from the University down the great
Leopoldstrasse, one of the finest streets in Europe, toward the Cafe
Luitpold, where he had invited her to drink coffee.
There was little conversation during that brisk walk. He was frozen, and
she was not thinking of him at all.
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