ered.

"Fish-blooded," snapped Frau Godowska. "Without soul, without heart,
without grace. But you cannot equal their dress materials. I spent a
week in Brighton twenty years ago, and the travelling cape I bought
there is not yet worn out--the one you wrap the hot-water bottle in,
Sonia. My lamented husband, your father, Sonia, knew a great deal about
England. But the more he knew about it the oftener he remarked to me,
'England is merely an island of beef flesh swimming in a warm gulf sea
of gravy.' Such a brilliant way of putting things. Do you remember,
Sonia?"

"I forget nothing, mamma," answered Sonia.

Said the Herr Professor: "That is the proof of your calling, gnadiges
Fraulein. Now I wonder--and this is a very interesting speculation--is
memory a blessing or--excuse the word--a curse?"

Frau Godowska looked into the distance, then the corners of her mouth
dropped and her skin puckered. She began to shed tears.

"Ach Gott! Gracious lady, what have I said?" exclaimed the Herr
Professor.

Sonia took her mother's hand. "Do you know," she said, "to-night it is
stewed carrots and nut tart for supper. Suppose we go in and take our
places," her sidelong, tragic stare accusing the Professor and me the
while.

I followed them across the lawn and up the steps. Frau Godowska was
murmuring, "Such a wonderful, beloved man"; with her disengaged hand
Fraulein Sonia was arranging the sweet pea "garniture."

...

"A concert for the benefit of afflicted Catholic infants will take place
in the salon at eight-thirty P.M. Artists: Fraulein Sonia Godowska,
from Vienna; Herr Professor Windberg and his trombone; Frau Oberlehrer
Weidel, and others."

This notice was tied round the neck of the melancholy stag's head in
the dining-room. It graced him like a red and white dinner bib for days
before the event, causing the Herr Professor to bow before it and say
"good appetite" until we sickened of his pleasantry and left the smiling
to be done by the waiter, who was paid to be pleasing to the guests.

On the appointed day the married ladies sailed about the pension dressed
like upholstered chairs, and the unmarried ladies like draped muslin
dressing-table covers. Frau Godowska pinned a rose in the centre of
her reticule; another blossom was tucked in the mazy folds of a white
antimacassar thrown across her breast. The gentlemen wore black coats,
white silk ties and ferny buttonholes tickling the chin.

The floor of the salon