In short, it all turned out quite otherwise than James had expected, and the conversation with the Directress no little disturbed his equanimity. A man of his breeding hesitated to say rudely to his nephew that he found her an appalling person: it would be indiscreet, considering how plainly Hans Castorp’s manner revealed his acceptance of all the extraordinary phenomena up here. James merely tapped at his nephew’s door, and insinuated that Fräulein Mylendonk was surely extremely original. Hans Castorp looked up inquiringly, and half assented; asking, in his turn: “Did she sell you a thermometer?” “Me⁠—no,” said his uncle. “Is that the custom up here?” The worst of it was that Hans Castorp would clearly not have been surprised if she had. It was “We don’t feel the cold” all over again. And the Consul did feel the cold, felt it persistently, though his head was hot. He thought to himself that if the Oberin had offered him a thermometer, he would certainly have refused it, and thereby have committed a blunder, since he could not ask to use his nephew’s⁠—he was too civilized for that.