Henry Handel Richardson

“ Having captured all the sheets, Maurice tried to arrange them for her.
“It’s my Kayser,” she explained with a quick, upward glance, adding the next minute with a fresh ripple of laughter. “He’s all to pieces.”
“You have too much to carry,” said Maurice. “On such a windy day, too.”
“That’s what Joan said—Joan is my sister,” she continued. “But I guess it’s so cold this afternoon I had to bring a muff along. If my fingers are stiff I can’t play, and then Herr Becker is angry.” But she laughed again as she spoke, and it was plain that the master’s wrath did not exactly incite fear. ”

“ There was a pause, in which James, the pianist, who was a regular visitor, approached to have his cup refilled. All the circle knew, of course, that Johanna was “doing for a new man”; and it seemed to Maurice that James half closed one eye at him, and gave him a small, sympathetic nudge with his elbow.
So he held to his guns. When James had retired, he began anew, without preamble.
“My friend Dove tells me you are interested in German literature?” ”

“ Fancy some one dying every minute. It couldn’t possibly be true. For then the world would soon be empty.”
“Always there are coming more into it,” said Furst, in his blunt, broken English.
A pause ensued. Dove flicked dust off his trouser-leg; and the American men present were suddenly fascinated by the bottoms of their cups. Ephie was the first to regain her composure.
“Now let us talk of something pleasant, something quite different—from dying.” She turned and, over her shoulder, laughed mischievously at Maurice, who was siting behind her. ”

“ But she could not hinder wayward Ephie from making a shameless use of him, and then laughing at him behind his back—a laugh in which Mrs. Cayhill was not always able to refrain from joining, though it must be said that she was usually loud in her praises of Dove, at the expense of all visitors who were not American.
“From these Dutch you can’t expect much, one way or the other,” she declared. “And young Guest sometimes sits there with a face as long as my arm. But Dove is really a most sensible young fellow—why, he thinks just as I do about Arnerica.” ”

“ Ephie and her mother exchanged looks, and shook with ill-concealed mirth, so that Furst, who had spoken serioulsy and in good faith, sat down red and uncomfortable; and Boehmer, who was dressed in what he believed to be American fashion, smiled in a superior manner, to show he was aware that Furst was making himself ridiculous.
“Look here, Miss Ephie,” said James; “the next time you have to go out alone, just send for me, and I’ll take care of you.”
“Or me” said Dove. “You have only to let me know.”
“No, no, Mr. Dove!” cried Mrs. Cayhill. “You do far too much for her as it is. ”

“ Naturally, he did not understand how highly he was favoured by her; he knew neither the depth of her affection for Ephie, nor the exact degree of contempt in which she held the young men who dangled there on a Sunday—poor fools who were growing fat on emotion and silly ideas, when they should have been taking plain, hard fare at college. To Dove, Johanna had a particular aversion ”

“ When she did happen to become conscious of her surroundings, she was callous, or merely indifferent, to them; for, compared with romance, life was dull and diffuse; it lacked the wilful simplicity, the exaggerative omissions, and forcible perspectives, which make up art: in other words, life demanded that unceasing work of selection and rejection, which it is the story-teller’s duty to Perform for his readers. ”

“ Cayhill finding everything Ephic said, matchlessly amusing.
As Dove and Maurice walked there together for the first time—it now leaked out that Dove spent every Sunday afternoon in the LESSINGSTRASSE—he spoke to Maurice of Johanna. Not in a disparaging way; Dove had never been heard to mention a woman’s name otherwise than with respect. And, in this case, he deliberately showed up Johanna’s good qualities, in the hope that Maurice might feel attracted by her, and remain at her side; for Dove had fallen deeply in love with Ephie, and had, as it was, more rivals than he cared for, in the field. ”

“ Ephie Cayhill. Besides a graceful word of thanks, she wrote: WE ARE AT HOME EVERY SUNDAY. MAMMA WOULD BE VERY PLEASED.
Maurice did not scruple to call the following week, and on doing so, found himself in the midst of one of those English-speaking coteries, which spring up in all large, continental towns. Foreigners were not excluded—Maurice discovered two or three of his German friends, awkwardly balancing their cups on their knees. ”