I had hated Krak with that healthy full-blooded antipathy whose faculty one seems to lose in later years.
"Krak was mother's governess till mother was eighteen," I reminded her.
Krak spoke to Anna in a low whisper; then they both went out, leaving me alone in the big room.
It fell rather flat, I regret to say; Krak had not significance for them, and Wetter was full of wild brilliant talk.
I thought that there was sometimes a wistful look in my mother's eyes; was she thinking of Krak, Krak in far-off Styria?
