»Do you know that poem of Sappho about her hands in the stars. ... I am curiously sapphic. And this is so remarkable – not only am I sapphic, I find in all the works of all the greatest writers, especially in their unedited letters, some touch, some sign of myself – some resemblance, some part of myself, like a thousand reflections of my own hands in a dark mirror.«

»But what a bother,« said I.

»I do not know what you mean by ›bother‹; is it rather the curse of my genius. ...« She paused suddenly, staring at me. »Do you know my tragedy?« she asked.

I shook my head.

»My tragedy is my mother. Living with her I live with the coffin of my unborn aspirations. You heard that about the safety-pin to-night. It may seem to you a little thing, but it ruined my three first gestures. They were –«

»Impaled on a safety-pin,« I suggested.

»Yes, exactly that. And when we are in Vienna I am the victim of moods, you know. I long to do wild, passionate things. And mamma says, ›Please pour out my mixture first.‹ Once I remember I flew into a rage and threw a wash-stand jug out of the window. Do you know what she said? ›Sonia, it is not so much throwing things out of windows, if only you would –‹«

»Choose something smaller?« said I.

»No ... ›tell me about it beforehand.‹ Humiliating! And I do not see any possible light out of this darkness.«

»Why don't you join a touring company and leave your mother in Vienna?«

»What! Leave my poor, little, sick, widowed mother in Vienna! Sooner than that I would drown myself. I love my mother as I love nobody else in the world – nobody and nothing! Do you think it is impossible to love one's tragedy? ›Out of my great sorrows I make my little songs,‹ that is Heine or myself.«

»Oh, well, that's all right,« I said cheerfully.

»But it is not all right!«

I suggested we should turn back. We turned.

»Sometimes I think the solution lies in marriage,« said Fräulein Sonia. »If I find a simple, peaceful man who adores me and will look after mamma – a man who would be for me a pillow – for genius cannot hope to mate – I shall marry him. ... You know the Herr Professor has paid me very marked attentions.«

»Oh, Fräulein Sonia,« I said, very pleased with myself, »why not marry him to your mother?« We were passing the hairdresser's shop at the moment. Fräulein Sonia clutched my arm.

»You, you,« she stammered. »The cruelty. I am going to faint. Mamma to marry again before I marry – the indignity. I am going to faint here and now.«

I was frightened. »You can't,« I said, shaking her. »Come back to the pension and faint as much as you please. But you can't faint here. All the shops are closed. There is nobody about.