"Why shouldn't he? What makes you think that, Fräulein Else?" "Upon my word, perhaps he'll marry that actress and trot about the world with her." George shrugged his shoulders ... he didn't know personally of any actress with whom Heinrich was mixed up, and he ventured to express a doubt whether Heinrich would ever marry any one, whether she was a Princess or a circus rider. "It would be rather a pity if Bermann were to," said Frau Ehrenberg, without taking any notice of George's discretion. "I certainly think that young people take these matters either too lightly or too seriously." Else followed up the idea: "Yes, it is strange, all you men are either cleverer or much sillier in these matters than in any other, although really it is just in such crucial moments of one's life, that one ought as far as possible to be one's ordinary self." "My dear Else," said George casually, "once one's passions are set going----" "Yes, when they are set going," emphasised Frau Ehrenberg. "Passions!" exclaimed Else. "I believe that like all other great things in the world, they are really something quite rare." "What do you know, my child?" said Frau Ehrenberg. "At any rate I've never so far seen anything of that kind in my immediate environment," explained Else. "Who knows if you would discover it," remarked George, "even though it did come once in a way quite near you? Viewed from outside a flirtation and a life's tragedy may sometimes look quite the same." "That is certainly not true," said Else. "Passion is something that is bound to betray itself." "How do you manage to know that, Else?" objected Frau Ehrenberg. "Passions can often conceal themselves deeper than any ordinary trumpery little emotion, for the very reason that there is usually more at stake." "I think," replied George, "that it is a very personal matter. There are, of course, people who have everything written on their forehead, and others who are impenetrable; being impenetrable is quite as much a talent as anything else." "It can be trained too, like anything else," said Else. The conversation stuck for a moment, as is apt to occur when the personal application that lies behind some general observation flashes out only too palpably. Frau Ehrenberg started a new topic. "Have you been composing anything nice, George?" she asked. "A few trifles for the piano. My quintette will soon be ready too." "The quintette is beginning to grow mythical," said Else discontentedly. "Else!" said her mother. "Well, it really would be a good thing, if he were to be more industrious." "You are perhaps right about that," replied George. "I think artists used to work much more in former days than they do now." "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."