The White Morning | Page 7

pride and the strong independent will that
she had believed would enable her to leap lightly over every pitfall in
life.
Then he would come and her spirits would soar, her whole awakened
being possessed by a sort of reckless fury, a desperate resolve to enjoy
the meager portion of happiness allotted to her by an always grudging
fate; and for a few days after he left she would give herself up to
blissful and extravagant dreams.

But Nettelbeck was by no means lightly in love with Gisela Döring.
During the third summer, partly owing to the increased independence
of her growing charges, partly to his own expert management, they met
in long solitudes seldom disturbed. Gisela dismissed fears, ignored the
inevitable end, plunged headlong and was wildly happy. Nettelbeck
was an ardent and absorbed lover, for he knew that his time was short,
and he was determined to have one perfect memory in his secret life
that the woman who bore his name should never violate. Miss Howland
had meted him the portion his dilatoriness invited and married a fine
upstanding young American whose career was in Washington; and his
family had peremptorily commanded him to return in the spring (with
the Kaiser's permission, a mandate in itself) and marry the patient
Baronin Irma Hammorwörth.
And so for a summer and a winter they were happy.
Gisela averted her mind tonight from the parting with something of the
almost forgotten panic. She had never dared to dwell upon it, nor on the
month that followed. Her powerful will had rebelled finally and she had
fought down and out of her consciously functioning mind the details of
her tragic passion, and even reveled arrogantly in the sensation of
deliverance from the slavery of love. Simultaneously she was swept off
to see the great natural wonders of the American continent and they had
intoned the requiem.
The following autumn she returned to Germany and paid her mother
another brief visit.
There all was well. Frau von Niebuhr, who had not developed a white
hair and whose Viennese maid was a magician in the matter of gowns
and complexion, was enjoying life and had a daring salon; that is to say
gatherings in which all the men did not wear uniforms nor prefix the
sacred von. She drew the line at bad manners, but otherwise all (and of
any nation) who had distinguished themselves, or possessed the
priceless gift of personality, were welcome there; and although she
lived to be amused and make up what she had lost during thirty
unspeakable years, she progressed inevitably in keenness of insight and
breadth of vision. She had become a student of politics and stared into
the future with deepening apprehension, but of this she gave not a hint
to Gisela. Mariette was her closest friend and only confidante. Mariette
was now living in Berlin, and amusing herself in ways Frau von

Niebuhr disapproved, mainly because she thought it wiser to banish
men from one's inner life altogether; but, true to her code, she forebore
remonstrance.
Lili, having discovered that her voice was not for grand opera, had
philosophically descended to the concert stage and was excitedly happy
in her success and independence. Elsa was a Red Cross nurse.
Gisela met Franz von Nettelbeck at a court function and had her little
revenge. He was furious, and vowed, quite audibly, that he would never
forgive her. But Gisela was merely disturbed lest the
Obersthofmeisterin who stood but three feet away overhear his caustic
remarks. Distinguished professors (without their wives) might go to
court as a reward for shedding added luster upon the German Empire,
but lesser mortals who had received payment for services rendered
might not. Her independent mother, still a favorite, for she was
exceeding discreet, would have incurred the imperial displeasure if the
truth were known. However, the incident passed unnoticed, and Franz,
whatever his shortcomings, was a gentleman and kept her secret.
The scene at the palace had been brilliant and sustaining and she had
received much personal homage, for she was looking very beautiful and
radiant, and the little adventure had been incense to her pride
(moreover the young Freifrau von Nettelbeck, whom she saw on his
arm later, was an insignificant little hausfrau); but when she was in her
room after midnight she realized grimly that if she had not done her
work so well during that terrible month in New York and buried her
sex heart, she should once more be beating the floor or the wall with
her impotent hands. But the knowledge of her immunity made her a
little sad.
3
The next episode to her grim humor was wholly amusing, although it
played its part in her developing sense of revolt against the attitude of
the German male