Instead of returning to the mountains to watch her hitherto thrilling new house take form, Metta lingers in Berlin in Corona’s toils. She finds this woman less intellectual and harder than Olga, and dislikes intensely the exhibitionistic group of lesbians, some tailored, some merely histrionic, with whom her new flame associates. When she finally discovers that Corona is still half-involved in an old affair with a married woman, and is also encouraging the advances of a Russian girl in the pension, Metta flees to her mountains and lives quite alone in her new house, save for visits from Petermann and another man of tragic history met at Sophie’s before the end of that association. A passionately-anticipated visit from Corona, which Metta hopes may result in the latter’s taking up residence with her away from urban distractions, proves a bitter disappointment. Corona finally confesses that she is incurably restless and empty, a huntress who is free of an actual pain of physical need only while she is in process of snaring a new victim. She asks the privilege of using Metta’s mountaintop as an occasional sanctuary. Thereafter Metta settles in, not happy but at least relatively serene, to live alone and provide temporary peace for such of her friends as care to seek her out. Comparison of this novel with _La Bonifas_ is interesting because, despite their similarity in basic theme and the influence of initial traumatic incident, they are so widely different. Even the first incidents illustrate the difference: in _La Bonifas_, the physical violence of suicide enacted before the child’s very eyes; in _The Scorpion_, a psycho-social teapot-tempest involving the child only through her cross-questioning by a children’s psychiatrist, which she meets with passive resistance. In the one novel a female creature is endowed with all the extroverted tastes, interests, and abilities usually considered male. In the other the female creature is wholly feminine save for her sexual inclinations. Accordingly, Weirauch stresses the influence of environment. None of her lesbians are really masculine in appearance, and only one male homosexual looks born to the role. On the other hand, biographical vignettes are adroitly introduced to account for almost every variant in the story, and these are even more effective because they are not notably Freudian in pattern. Indeed, this novel’s quality lies in its verisimilitude, an effect naturally easier for a woman writer in this field than for a man. The inevitable conclusion drawn from these two novels together is that sexual variance is not so much an inborn factor in a life pattern as it is a concomitant result of other aspects of personality and experience.