The Fürstin and I followed them along the broad, pleasant, tree-lined street towards the railway station.  
"A boy of that age ought not to marry a girl of that age," said the Fürstin, breaking a silence.
 
I didn't answer.
 
"Well?" she said, domineering.
 
"My dear cousin," I said, "I know all that you have in your mind. I admit—I her. You can't make me more jealous than I am. She's clean and sweet—it is marvellous how the God of the rest of the world can have made a thing so brave and honest and wonderful. She's better than flowers. But I think I'm going away to-night, nevertheless."
 
"You don't mean you're going to carry to the point of giving that boy a chance—for he hasn't one while you're about."
 
"No. You see—I want to give Rachel a chance. You know as well as I do—the things in my mind."
 
"That you've got to forget."
 
"That I don't forget."
 
"That you're bound in honor to forget. And who could help you better?"
 
"I'm going," I said and then, wrathfully, "If you think I want to use Rachel as a sort of dressing—for my old sores——"
 
I left the sentence unfinished.
 
"Oh nonsense!" cried the Fürstin, and wouldn't speak to me again until we got to that Teutonic "art" station that is not the least amo............