to me; but it was such a dismal performance that I could not bear to
hear her. Why don't I send her home? Well, my husband will not hear of
me being alone, and he thinks I might do worse than keep Nurse Frances.
And perhaps I might."
"I would give a good deal to have a sister like pretty Fraeulein Mueller
has," said little Fraeulein Oberhof. "She came to look after me the other
day when I was alone. She has the kindest way about her. But when my
sister came in, she was not pleased to find Fraeulein Sophie Mueller with
me. She does not do anything for me herself, and she does not like any
one else to do anything either. Still, she is very good to other people.
She comes up from the theatre sometimes at half-past nine--that is the
hour when I am just sleepy--and she stamps about the room, and makes
cornflour for the old Polish lady. Then off she goes, taking with her
the cornflour together with my sleep. Once I complained, but she said I
was irritable. You can't think how teasing it is to hear the noise of
the spoon stirring the cornflour just when you are feeling drowsy. You
say to yourself, 'Will that cornflour never be made? It seems to take
centuries."
"One could be more patient if it were being made for oneself," said
M. Lichinsky. "But at least, Fraeulein, your sister does not quarrel
with every one. You must be grateful for that mercy!"
Even as he spoke, a stout lady thrust herself into the reading-room.
She looked very hot and excited. She was M. Lichinsky's mother. She
spoke, with a whirlwind of Polish words. It is sometimes difficult to
know when these people are angry and when they are pleased. But there
was no mistake about Mme. Lichinsky. She was always angry. Her son rose
from the sofa and followed her to the door. Then he turned round to his
confederates, and shrugged his shoulders.
"Another quarrel!" he said hopelessly.
CHAPTER XV.
WHICH CONTAINS NOTHING.
"YOU may have talent for other things," Robert Allitsen said one day to
Bernardine, "but you certainly have no talent for photography. You have
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