"You have asked us to stay on," she began, "and it isn"t fair that you shouldn"t know exactly what you are in for."
"If you"re going to tell, me how your name is spelt," I said, "I"ve guessed that already. It is Juchs."
"Oh, you"re clever!" exclaimed Dolly unexpectedly.
"Well, if that"s clever," I said modestly, "I don"t know what you would say to _some_ of the things I think of."
Dolly laughed. Then she looked serious again, and tugged at the currants in a way that wasn"t very good for the bush.
"Yes. His name was Juchs," she said. "Kitty always did p.r.o.nounce it Jewks. It wasn"t the war. It wasn"t camouflage. She thought it was the way. So did the other relations in England. That is when they p.r.o.nounced it at all, which I should think wasn"t ever."
"You mean they called him Siegfried," I said.
Dolly stopped short in her picking to look at me in surprise.
"Siegfried?" she repeated, her arrested hands full of currants.
"That"s another of the things I"ve guessed," I said proudly. "By sheer intelligently putting two and two together."
"He wasn"t Siegfried," said Dolly.
"Not Siegfried?"
It was my turn to stop picking and look surprised.
"And in your sleep--? And so affectionately--?" I said.
"Siegfried wasn"t Juchs, he was Bretterstangel," said Dolly. "Did I say his name that day in my sleep? Dear Siegfried." And her eyes, even while they rested on mine became softly reminiscent.
"But Dolly--if Siegfried wasn"t your husband, ought you to have--well, do you think it was wise to be dreaming of him?"
"But he was my husband."
I stared.
"But you said your husband was Juchs," I said.
"So he was," said Dolly.
"He was? Then why--I"m fearfully slow, I know, but do tell me--if Juchs was your husband why wasn"t he called Siegfried?"
"Because Siegfried"s name was Bretterstangel. I _began_ with Siegfried."
There was a silence. We stood looking at each other, our hands full of currants.
Then I said, "Oh." And after a moment I said, "I see." And after another moment I said, "You _began_ with Siegfried."
I was greatly taken aback. The guesses which had been arranged so neatly in my mind were swept into confusion.
"What you"ve got to realise," said Dolly, evidently with an effort, "is that I kept on marrying Germans. I ought to have left off at Siegfried.
I wish now I had. But one gets into a habit--"
"But," I interrupted, my mouth I think rather open, "you kept on--?"
"Yes," said Dolly, holding herself very straight and defiantly, "I did keep on, and that"s what I want you to be quite clear about before we settle down to stay here indefinitely. Kitty can"t stay if I won"t. I do put my foot down sometimes, and I would about this. Poor darling--she feels desperately what I"ve done, and I try to help her to keep it quiet with ordinary people as much as I can--oh, I"m always letting little bits out! But I can"t, I won"t, not tell a friend who so wonderfully invites us--"
"_You"re_ not going to begin being grateful?" I interrupted quickly.
"You"ve no idea," Dolly answered irrelevantly, her eyes wide with wonder at her past self, "how difficult it is not to marry Germans once you"ve begun."
"But--how many?" I got out.
"Oh, only two. It wasn"t their number so much. It was their quality."
"What--Junkers?"
"Junkers? Would you mind more if they had been? Do you mind very much anyhow?"
"I don"t mind anything. I don"t mind your being technically German a sc.r.a.p. All I think is that it was a little--well, perhaps a little excessive to marry another German when you had done it once already. But then I"m always rather on the side of frugality. I do definitely prefer the few instead of the many and the little instead of the much."
"In husbands as well?"
"Well yes--I think so."
Dolly sighed.
"I wish I had been like that," she said. "It would have saved poor Kitty so much."
She dropped the currants she held in her hands slowly bunch by bunch into the basket.
"But I don"t see," I said, "what difference it could make to Kitty. I mean, once you had started having German husbands at all, what did it matter one more or less? And wasn"t the second one d--I mean, hadn"t he left off being alive when the war began? So I don"t see what difference it could make to Kitty."
"But that"s just what you"ve got to realise," said Dolly, letting the last bunch of currants drop out of her hand into the basket.
She looked at me, and I became aware that she was slowly turning red. A very delicate flush was slowly spreading over her face, so delicate that for a moment I didn"t see what it was that was making her look more and more guilty, more and more like a child who has got to confess--but an honourable, good child, determined that it _will_ confess.
"You know," she said, "that I"ve lived in Germany for years and years."
"Yes," I said. "I"ve guessed that."
"And it"s different from England."
"Yes," I said. "So I understand."
"The way they see things. Their laws."
"Yes," I said.
Dolly was finding it difficult to say what she had to say. I thought it might help her if I didn"t look at her, so I once more began to pick currants. She mechanically followed my example.