"What is to be done?" said Fräulein, drying her lips on her new fringed serviette, and folding it in a small neat square.
"Mah!" said Nancy, raising her shoulders, swayed back into Italian by the stress of the moment.
"No news from your husband?"
"Bah!" said Nancy, shrugging her shoulders again, and waving her hand from the wrist downwards in a gesture of disdain.
Fräulein sighed, and looked troubled. Then she said:
"You must come and live here, you and Anne-Marie. I will send Elisabeth away—anyhow, she has broken already three lamp-glasses and a plate—and we must live with economy." Fräulein, who had lived with that lean and disagreeable comrade all her life, then coughed and looked practical. "Yes, I shall be glad to get rid of that clumsy girl, Elisabeth."
Nancy put one arm round her neck and kissed her again. Then she said: "I have only one hope."
"What is that?" asked Fräulein.
It was Nancy's turn to cough. She did so, and then said: "There is ... there are ... some ... some people in England who are interested in me—in my writings. I think ... they might help ... I ought to go over and see them."
"Certainly," said Fräulein, "you must go. And I will keep Anne-Marie here with me. Then she need not interrupt her violin-lessons."