t
him.'

Loerke looked closely at her.

'Good,' he said. 'Then let it be somebody else. Only don't go back to
that England, that school. No, that is stupid.'

Again there was a pause. He was afraid to ask her outright to go with
him, he was not even quite sure he wanted her; and she was afraid to be
asked. He begrudged his own isolation, was VERY chary of sharing his
life, even for a day.

'The only other place I know is Paris,' she said, 'and I can't stand
that.'

She looked with her wide, steady eyes full at Loerke. He lowered his
head and averted his face.

'Paris, no!' he said. 'Between the RELIGION D'AMOUR, and the latest
'ism, and the new turning to Jesus, one had better ride on a carrousel
all day. But come to Dresden. I have a studio there--I can give you
work,--oh, that would be easy enough. I haven't seen any of your
things, but I believe in you. Come to Dresden--that is a fine town to
be in, and as good a life as you can expect of a town. You have
everything there, without the foolishness of Paris or the beer of
Munich.'

He sat and looked at her, coldly. What she liked about him was that he
spoke to her simple and flat, as to himself. He was a fellow craftsman,
a fellow being to her, first.

'No--Paris,' he resumed, 'it makes me sick. Pah--l'amour. I detest it.
L'amour, l'amore, die Liebe--I detest it in every language. Women and
love, there is no greater tedium,' he cried.

She was slightly offended. And yet, this was her own basic feeling.
Men, and love--there was no greater tedium.

'I think the same,' she said.

'A bore,' he repeated. 'What does it matter whether I wear this hat or
another. So love. I needn't wear a hat at all, only for convenience.
Neither need I love except for convenience. I tell you what, gnadige
Frau--' and he leaned towards her--then he made a quick, odd gesture,
as of striking something aside--'gnadige Fraulein, never mind--I tell
you what, I would give everything, everything, all your love, for a
little companionship in intelligence--' his eyes flickered darkly,
evilly at her. 'You understand?' he asked, with a faint smile. 'It
wouldn't matter if she were a hundred years old, a thousand--it would
be all the same to me, so that she can UNDERSTAND.' He shut his eyes
with a little snap.

Again Gudrun was rather offended. Did he not think her good looking,
then? Suddenly she laughed.

'I shall have to wait about eighty years to suit you, at that!' she
said. 'I am