"That's simple," I said. "I know all about German university towns and castles on hills. I shall make her look into the June night, as you suggest; into the violet night with its points of golden flame. There will be the black silhouette of the castle, with its sharp roofs and hooded turrets, behind her. From the hanging beer-gardens in the town below the voices of the students, singing in perfect four-part harmony, will float up through the dark-blue spaces. '_Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot_' and '_Das Ringlein sprang in zwei_'--the heart-rendingly sweet old songs will make her cry all the more. Her tears will patter like rain among the leaves of the mulberry trees in the garden below. Does that seem to you adequate?" "Very nice," said Miss Penny. "But how are you going to bring the sex problem and all of its horrors into the landscape?" "Well, let me think." I called to memory those distant foreign summers when I was completing my education. "I know. I shall suddenly bring a swarm of moving candles and Chinese lanterns under the mulberry trees. You imagine the rich lights and shadows, the jewel-bright leafage, the faces and moving limbs of men and women, seen for an instant and gone again. They are students and girls of the town come out to dance, this windless, blue June night, under the mulberry trees. And now they begin, thumping round and round in a ring, to the music of their own singing. "_Wir können spielen_ _Vio-vio-vio-lin_ _Wir können spielen_ _Vi-o-lin_ "Now the rhythm changes, quickens. "_Und wir können tanzen Bumstarara,_ _Bumstarara, Bumstarara,_ _Und wir können tanzen Bumstarara,_ _Bumstarara-rara._ "The dance becomes a rush, an elephantine prancing on the dry lawn under the mulberry trees. And from the bastion Melpomene looks down and perceives, suddenly and apocalyptically, that everything in the world is sex, sex, sex. Men and women, male and female--always the same, and all, in the light of the horror of the afternoon, disgusting. That's how I should do it, Miss Penny."