"The great ones," qualified George.
"No, all," persisted Else.
"Perhaps it is a good thing that you are going to travel," said Frau Ehrenberg, "for apparently you've too many distractions here."
"He'll let himself be distracted anywhere," asserted Else sternly. "Even in Iglau, or wherever else he happens to be next year."
"That's why I've never yet thought of your going away," said Frau Ehrenberg and shook her head; "and your brother will be in Sophia or Athens next year and Stanzides in Hungary ... it's really a great pity to think of all the nicest men being scattered like this to the four corners of the world."
"If I were a man," said Else, "I would scatter too."
George smiled. "You're dreaming of a journey round the world in a white yacht, Madeira, Ceylon, San Francisco."
"Oh no, I shouldn't like to be without a profession, but I should probably have been an officer in the merchant service."
"Won't you be kind enough"—Frau Ehrenberg turned to George—"to play us one or two of your new things?"
"Delighted, I'm sure." He got up from the recess and walked towards the window into the darkness of the room. Else got up and turned on the light on top. George opened the piano, sat down and played his ballads.