One could not have one without a husband – that she also realised. But what had the man got to do with it? So she wondered as she sat mending tea towels in the evening, head bent over her work, light shining on her brown curls. Birth – what was it? wondered Sabina. Death – such a simple thing. She had a little picture of her dead grandmother dressed in a black silk frock, tired hands clasping the crucifix that dragged between her flattened breasts, mouth curiously tight, yet almost secretly smiling. But the grandmother had been born once – that was the important fact.

As she sat there one evening, thinking, the Young Man entered the café, and called for a glass of port wine. Sabina rose slowly. The long day and the hot room made her feel a little languid, but as she poured out the wine she felt the Young Man's eyes fixed on her, looked down at him and dimpled.

»It's cold out,« she said, corking the bottle.

The Young Man ran his hands through his snow-powdered hair and laughed.

»I wouldn't call it exactly tropical,« he said. »But you're very snug in here – look as though you've been asleep.«

Very languid felt Sabina in the hot room, and the Young Man's voice was strong and deep. She thought she had never seen anybody who looked so strong – as though he could take up the table in one hand – and his restless gaze wandering over her face and figure gave her a curious thrill deep in her body, half pleasure, half pain. ... She wanted to stand there, close beside him, while he drank his wine. A little silence followed. Then he took a book out of his pocket, and Sabina went back to her sewing. Sitting there in the corner, she listened to the sound of the leaves being turned and the loud ticking of the clock that hung over the gilt mirror. She wanted to look at him again – there was a something about him, in his deep voice, even in the way his clothes fitted. From the room above she heard the heavy dragging sound of Frau Lehmann's footsteps, and again the old thoughts worried Sabina. If she herself should one day look like that – feel like that! Yet it would be very sweet to have a little baby to dress and jump up and down.

»Fräulein – what's your name – what are you smiling at?« called the Young Man.

She blushed and looked up, hands quiet in her lap, looked across the empty tables and shook her head.

»Come here, and I'll show you a picture,« he commanded.

She went and stood beside him. He opened the book, and Sabina saw a coloured sketch of a naked girl sitting on the edge of a great, crumpled bed, a man's opera hat on the back of her head.

He put his hand over the body, leaving only the face exposed, then scrutinised Sabina closely.

»Well?«

»What do you mean?« she asked, knowing perfectly well.

»Why, it might be your own photograph – the face, I mean – that's as far as I can judge.«

»But the hair's done differently,« said Sabina, laughing. She threw back her head, and the laughter bubbled in her round white throat.

»It's rather a nice picture, don't you think?« he asked. But she was looking at a curious ring he wore on the hand that covered the girl's body, and only nodded.

»Ever seen anything like it before?«

»Oh, there's plenty of those funny ones in the illustrated papers.«

»How would you like to have your picture taken that way?«

»Me? I'd never let anybody see it. Besides, I haven't got a hat like that!«

»That's easily remedied.«

Again a little silence, broken by Anna throwing up the slide.

Sabina ran into the kitchen.

»Here, take this milk and egg up to the Frau,« said Anna. »Who've you got in there?«

»Got such a funny man! I think he's a little gone here,« tapping her forehead.

Upstairs in the ugly room the Frau sat sewing, a black shawl round her shoulders, her feet encased in red woollen slippers. The girl put the milk on a table by her, then stood, polishing a spoon on her apron.

»Nothing else?«

»Na,« said the Frau, heaving up in her chair. »Where's my man?«

»He's playing cards over at Snipold's. Do you want him?«

»Dear heaven, leave him alone. I'm nothing. I don't matter. ... And the whole day waiting here.«

Her hand shook as she wiped the rim of the glass with her fat finger.

»Shall I help you to bed?«

»You go downstairs, leave me alone.