h such a wealth of hair to go
wandering in foreign countries? Now, supposing that you lost your purse
at midnight in a snowbound train in North Russia?"

"But I haven't the slightest intention--" I began.

"I don't say that you have. But when you said good-bye to your dear man
I am positive that you had no intention of coming here. My dear, I am a
woman of experience, and I know the world. While he is away you have a
fever in your blood. Your sad heart flies for comfort to these foreign
lands. At home you cannot bear the sight of that empty bed---it is like
widowhood. Since the death of my dear husband I have never known an
hour's peace."

"I like empty beds," I protested sleepily, thumping the pillow.

"That cannot be true because it is not natural. Every wife ought to feel
that her place is by her husband's side--sleeping or waking. It is plain
to see that the strongest tie of all does not yet bind you. Wait until
a little pair of hands stretches across the water--wait until he comes
into harbour and sees you with the child at your breast."

I sat up stiffly.

"But I consider child-bearing the most ignominious of all professions,"
I said.

For a moment there was silence. Then Frau Fischer reached down and
caught my hand.

"So young and yet to suffer so cruelly," she murmured. "There is nothing
that sours a woman so terribly as to be left alone without a man,
especially if she is married, for then it is impossible for her to
accept the attention of others--unless she is unfortunately a widow. Of
course, I know that sea-captains are subject to terrible temptations,
and they are as inflammable as tenor singers--that is why you must
present a bright and energetic appearance, and try and make him proud of
you when his ship reaches port."

This husband that I had created for the benefit of Frau Fischer became
in her hands so substantial a figure that I could no longer see myself
sitting on a rock with seaweed in my hair, awaiting that phantom ship
for which all women love to suppose they hunger. Rather I saw myself
pushing a perambulator up the gangway, and counting up the missing
buttons on my husband's uniform jacket.

"Handfuls of babies, that is what you are really in need of," mused Frau
Fischer. "Then, as the father of a family he cannot leave you. Think of
his delight and excitement when he saw you!"

The plan seemed to me something of a risk. To appear suddenly with
handfuls of strange babies is not ge