The Frau Professor’s brow clouded and her face turned a brick-red color. With an effort she seemed to be suppressing her feelings. Then, laying a hand on Helène’s gloved ones, she bent over and in a softened voice said:
“My child, you cannot and should not expect that from me. Ten years ago when I married I was a blooming, fresh girl like you are, though, perhaps, not quite so attractive. Look at me now. See what those ten years have done for me.”
She stood up and stretched out her arms. It was a pathetic gesture.
“My husband is a kind and good man. He has his work to do and his studies. But the romance of his life—so far, at least as I can affect it, has gone out of him. Look at me and you will see what the drudgery of household duties, the care of children, the worry of making both ends meet, have made of me. My youth has departed from me, and with it have gone all the joy I have known and all the beauty I ever possessed.
“Do you expect that I should bring a beautiful young being like you into my home? Why, my dear, your presence would be a daily reminder to me, and to my husband, of my helplessness and futility. I could not compete with you. And there is not a woman in Hanover who would dare risk it. I am not doubting you. I am sure you are good and pure. But we are all fighting to keep the little flame of our husband’s admiration still burning in his heart for us. It is so small that it would die, oh, so easily if ... ah, my dear Fräulein, it is impossible.
“Take my advice and marry some good young man. Or, if you must find an occupation, look for it where women do not rule. Forgive me for my plain speaking; I do not mean to pain you. Were I a great lady with a magnificent household and many servants, I would engage you without a moment’s hesitation. As it is, it is out of the question. I ask your pardon, Fräulein Barton, and wish you a good morning and good luck.”
Helène knew not how she found herself in the street, but the sunshine seemed as if it had been washed from the sky suddenly as by a soiled rag. She walked mechanically, her heart numb, her brain dulled, without knowing where she was going. She had but one conscious feeling—to hide herself, to be alone. At the corner of the street she hailed a ’bus and shrank into its remotest corner. She allowed it to pass her pension; she would go into the park and sit there and think over what she should do. There at least she would not be molested. The trees and birds and children would not chide her.
In a quiet circular spot edged with boxwood she found a seat on a bench in a sunny corner where the tender green of the shrubbery spoke of a reawakened life. The sparrows hopped about her for the cake crumbs she threw them. It was too early in the season for the nurse maids and their perambulators and only occasionally a park gardener would pass along the walk wheeling his barrow of turf or soil and leaving behind him the fresh scent of earth.
Helène sat in a pathetic mood, too depressed to think. Her encounter with the world had stunned her, and she found herself utterly at a loss how to renew the attack. Suddenly, she heard the crunching sound of quick, firm foot-treads on gravel. Turning her head in the direction of the sound she saw a tall, fine-looking woman coming straight towards her. As she approached nearer, Helène noticed that she was young and neatly dressed in a smart tailor-made costume which set off to advantage a splendid, though rather stout figure. She recalled now that she had seen this young woman in the rooms of the Arts and Crafts Exhibition, and had admired her freedom and grace of movement, so unlike that of the other women. Evidently she was a foreigner.
In passing, the lady gave Helène a smile of recognition; then stopping suddenly, as if on a second thought, she turned back and went up to where Helène was sitting.