handfuls of small
change, giving orders to Anna through the "slide," helping the men with
their heavy coats, always with that magical child air about her, that
delightful sense of perpetually attending a party.

"How is the Frau Lehmann?" the women would whisper.

"She feels rather low, but as well as can be expected," Sabina would
answer, nodding confidentially.

Frau Lehmann's bad time was approaching. Anna and her friends referred
to it as her "journey to Rome," and Sabina longed to ask questions, yet,
being ashamed of her ignorance, was silent, trying to puzzle it out for
herself. She knew practically nothing except that the Frau had a baby
inside her, which had to come out--very painful indeed. 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 cafe,
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