The prostitute was obliged to stretch out her arms. He sat down beside her with a solemn ceremoniousness. Then he removed the pin from her hat, and laid the hat tenderly to one side. She had to lean her head on his shoulder. With that he fell into a dreamy meditation. XIII Philippina came up to Gertrude in the living room. Daniel was not at home. Philippina was humming the latest street song, the refrain of which ran as follows: _Drah’ di, Madel, drah’ di, Morgen kommt der Mahdi._ “There it is,” said Philippina, and threw a ball of yarn on the table. Gertrude had yielded to the girl’s importunities, and was addressing her now with the familiar “thou” and allowing Philippina to do the same in speaking to her. “We are after all relatives, you know, Gertrude,” said Philippina. Gertrude was afraid of Philippina; but she had thus far found no means of defending herself against her exaggerated eagerness to help her with the housework. And she felt in Philippina’s presence what she felt in the presence of no one else—a sense of shame at her own condition. Philippina, in fact, saw something indecent in Gertrude’s pregnancy; when she talked to her she always held her head up and looked into space; her action was quite conspicuous. “Oh, but ain’t people impudent,” Philippina began, after she had taken a loutish position on a chair. “The clerk over in the store asked me whether there wasn’t something up between Daniel and Eleanore. What d’ye think of that? Fresh, yes? You bet I give him all that was coming to him!” The needle in Gertrude’s fingers stopped moving. It was not the first time that Philippina had made such insinuating remarks. To-day she would come up to Gertrude, and whisper to her that Daniel was upstairs with Eleanore; yesterday she had said in a tone of affected sympathy that Eleanore looked so run down. Then she gave a detailed report of what this person and that person had said; then she turned into a champion of good morals and gentle manners, and remarked that you ought not offend people. Her every third word was “people.” She said she knew what a faultless character Eleanore had and how Daniel loved his wife, but people! And after all you couldn’t scratch everybody’s eyes out who annoyed you with dubious questions; if you did, there would soon be very few eyes left. Philippina’s bangs had acquired an unusual length; they covered her whole forehead down to her eyelashes. The glances she cast at Gertrude had on this account something especially malevolent about them. “She is not so certain of herself and her family after all,” thought Philippina, and made a lewd gesture with her legs as she sprawled on the chair.