vulgarity of production."

"Young man," interrupted Herr Erchardt, "you have never lived and you
have never suffered!"

"Oh, excuse me--how can you know?"

"I know because you have told me, and there's an end of it. Come back to
this bench in ten years' time and repeat those words to me," said Frau
Kellermann, with an eye upon Fritz, who was engaged in counting Elsa's
fingers with passionate fervour--"and bring with you your young wife,
Herr Langen, and watch, perhaps, your little child playing with--" She
turned towards Karl, who had rooted an old illustrated paper out of the
receptacle and was spelling over an advertisement for the enlargement of
Beautiful Breasts.

The sentence remained unfinished. We decided to move on. As we plunged
more deeply into the wood our spirits rose--reaching a point where they
burst into song--on the part of the three men--"O Welt, wie bist du
wunderbar!"--the lower part of which was piercingly sustained by Herr
Langen, who attempted quite unsuccessfully to infuse satire into it in
accordance with his--"world outlook". They strode ahead and left us to
trail after them--hot and happy.

"Now is the opportunity," said Frau Kellermann. "Dear Frau Professor, do
tell us a little about your book."

"Ach, how did you know I was writing one?" she cried playfully.

"Elsa, here, had it from Lisa. And never before have I personally known
a woman who was writing a book. How do you manage to find enough to
write down?"

"That is never the trouble," said the Advanced Lady--she took Elsa's arm
and leaned on it gently. "The trouble is to know where to stop. My brain
has been a hive for years, and about three months ago the pent-up waters
burst over my soul, and since then I am writing all day until late into
the night, still ever finding fresh inspirations and thoughts which beat
impatient wings about my heart."

"Is it a novel?" asked Elsa shyly.

"Of course it is a novel," said I.

"How can you be so positive?" said Frau Kellermann, eyeing me severely.

"Because nothing but a novel could produce an effect like that."

"Ach, don't quarrel," said the Advanced Lady sweetly. "Yes, it is a
novel--upon the Modern Woman. For this seems to me the woman's hour.
It is mysterious and almost prophetic, it is the symbol of the true
advanced woman: not one of those violent creatures who deny their sex
and smother their frail wings under... under--"

"The English tailor-made?" from Frau Kellermann.