one but the nicest people belonged. "If I win, Philippina, I am
going to make you a lovely present," she said.

From then on her conversation became rather tangled and incoherent. She
was out a great deal, and when she returned she was always in a rather
uncertain condition. She had Philippina put up her hair, and every word
she spoke during the operation was a lie. One time she confessed that
she had not been in the theatre, as Daniel had supposed, but at the
house of a certain Frau Baeumler, a good friend of Edmund Hahn. They had
been gambling: she had won sixty marks. She looked at the door as if in
fear, took out her purse, and showed Philippina three gold pieces.

Philippina had to swear that she would not give Dorothea away. A few
days later Dorothea got into another party and got out of it
successfully, and Philippina had to renew her oath. The old maid could
take an oath with an ease and glibness such as she might have displayed
in saying good morning. In the bottom of her heart she never failed to
grant herself absolution for the perjury she was committing. For the
time being she wished to collect, take notes, follow the game wherever
it went. Moreover, it tickled and satisfied her senses to think about
relations and situations which she knew full well she could never
herself experience.

Dorothea became more and more ensnared. Her eyes looked like
will-o'-the-wisps, her laugh was jerky and convulsive. She never had
time, either for her husband or her child. She would receive letters
occasionally that she would read with greedy haste and then tear into
shreds. Philippina came into her room once quite suddenly; Dorothea,
terrified, hid a photograph she had been holding in her hand. When
Philippina became indignant at the secrecy of her action, she said with
an air of inoffensive superiority: "You would not understand it,
Philippina. That is something I cannot discuss with any one."

But Philippina's vexation worried her: she showed her the photograph.
It was the picture of a young man with a cold, crusty face. Dorothea
said it was an American whom she had met at Frau Baeumler's. He was said
to be very rich and alone.

Every evening Philippina wanted to know something about the American.
"Tell me about the American," she would say.

One evening, quite late, Dorothea came into Philippina's room with
nothing on but her night-gown. Agnes and little Gottfried were asleep.
"The American has a box at the theatre