"At least," said he, trying to console her, "you will be able to dance for another month."
She flew at him, then, like a fury.
"Yes, here, at the Opera! Of what use is that? But Naples! Naples, where I made my début! Do you realize what it means to me to give up Naples?"
"The truth is," said Nordstrom, his voice growing hard, "that you like only one thing in life, and that is your dancing. Everything else in the world must be sacrificed to that. Everything. Even your lovers. You are a little inhuman, my dear."
She rose to her feet then, with much swirling of tartan skirts.
"At least," she said, "I am grateful for never having been in love with you, Nordstrom. Had I been, I think the loathing that I saw on your face when I told you my news just now would have killed me. As it is, I'm entirely indifferent."
He began to bluster.
"Oh, don't shout at me," she said, "my head still aches. I've had no sleep, and I'm dancing to-night. Perhaps you had better go, and let me rest."
"But, Lina! You're surely not going to give me my congé like this, after all the happiness that we have enjoyed together?"
"Oh," she said, still looking at him resentfully, "you can do something to help me, if you feel inclined . . . and really, there's no reason why you shouldn't. You are the father of this child."
Once again she surprised upon his face the disgusted expression that so much irritated her.
"All this must be very distasteful to you," she told him sardonically.
Nordstrom shrugged his shoulders. He went across to