out the leaves.. . . But what a confiding caress could be heard in that one word, 'What?'
'Has your mother said nothing to you . . . about . . .'
'About?'
'About me?'
Gemma suddenly flung back into the basket the cherries she had taken.
'Has she been talking to you?' she asked in her turn.
'Yes.'
'What has she been saying to you?'
'She told me that you . . . that you have suddenly decided to change . . . your former intention.' Gemma's head was bent again. She vanished altogether under her hat; nothing could be seen but her neck, supple and tender as the stalk of a big flower.
'What intentions?'
'Your intentions . . . relative to . . . the future arrangement of your life.'
'That is . . . you are speaking . . . of Herr Klüber?'
'Yes.'
'Mamma told you I don't want to be Herr Klüber's wife?'
'Yes.'
Gemma moved forward on the seat. The
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