rried little phrase her voice sounded like a chord--like three
strings sounding at once on some strange instrument.

And soon afterwards Emma had told her very gravely, with Clara walking
a little aloof, her doglike eyes shining as she gazed into the distance,
of a "most beautiful man" with a brown moustache, with whom Clara was in
love. He was there in the town, in Hanover, a hair-specialist, treating
Clara's thin short hair.

16

Even Emma had a "jungling." He had a very vulgar surname, too vulgar to
be spoken; it was breathed against Miriam's shoulder in the half-light.
Miriam was begged to forget it at once and to remember only the
beautiful little name that preceded it.

At the time she had timidly responded to all these stories and had felt
glad that the confidences had come to her.

Mademoiselle, she knew, had never received them.

But after these confidences there were no more serious attempts at
general conversation.

17

Miriam felt ashamed of her share in the hairdresser and the chemist.
Emma's jungling might possibly be a student.... She grieved over the
things that she felt were lying neglected, "things in general" she
felt sure she ought to discuss with the girls... improving the world...
leaving it better than you found it... the importance of life...
sleeping and dreaming that life was beauty and waking and finding it was
duty... making things better, reforming... being a reformer.... Pater
always said young people always wanted to reform the universe...
perhaps it was so... and nothing could be done. Clearly she was not the
one to do anything. She could do nothing even with these girls and she
was nearly eighteen.

Once or twice she wondered whether they ever had thoughts about things...
she felt they must; if only she were not shy, if she had a different
manner, she would find out. She knew she despised them as they were. She
could do nothing. Her fine ideas were no good. She did less than silly
little Mademoiselle. And all the time Fraulein thinking she was talking
and influencing them was keeping her... in Germany.

CHAPTER VI

1

Fraulein Pfaff came to the breakfast-table a little late in a grey stuff
dress with a cream-coloured ruching about the collar-band and ruchings
against her long brown wrists. The girls were already in their places,
and as soon as grace was said she began talking in a gentle decisive
voice.

"Martins' sponge-bags"--her face creased f