'I am afraid I press you,' he said, smiling in his gentle, chivalric
German fashion. Helena glanced swiftly at him. She liked his grey eyes,
she liked the agreeable intonation, and the pleasant sound of his words.

'Oh no,' she answered. 'You do not crush me.' Almost before she had finished the words she turned away to the window.
The man seemed to hesitate a moment, as if recovering himself from a
slight rebuff, before he could address his lady with the good-humoured
remark in German: 'Well, and have we not managed it very nicely, eh?' The whole party began to talk in German with great animation. They told
each other of the quaint ways of this or the other; they joked loudly
over 'Billy'--this being a nickname discovered for the German
Emperor--and what he would be saying of the Czar's trip; they questioned
each other, and answered each other concerning the places they were
going to see, with great interest, displaying admirable knowledge. They
were pleased with everything; they extolled things English.

Helena's stout neighbour, who, it seemed, was from Dresden, began to
tell anecdotes. He was a _raconteur_ of the naïve type: he talked with
face, hands, with his whole body. Now and again he would give little
spurts in his seat. After one of these he must have become aware of
Helena--who felt as if she were enveloped by a soft stove--struggling to
escape his compression. He stopped short, lifted his hat, and smiling
beseechingly, said in his persuasive way: 'I am sorry. I am sorry. I compress you!' He glanced round in
perplexity, seeking some escape or remedy. Finding none, he turned to
her again, after having squeezed hard against his lady to free
Helena, and said: 'Forgive me, I am sorry.' 'You are forgiven,' replied Helena, suddenly smiling into his face with
her rare winsomeness. The whole party, attentive, relaxed into a smile
at this. The good humour was complete.