KRONBORG
rough hand with women, dull ones, and she could be rude, too! The girls used to call her die Wölfin."
Fred thrust his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the piano. "Of course, even a stupid woman could get effects with such machinery: such a voice and body and face. But they, could n't possibly belong to a stupid woman, could they?"
Landry shook his head, "It 's personality; that 's as near as you can come to it. That 's what constitutes real equipment. What she does is interesting because she does it. Even the things she discards are suggestive. I regret some of them. Her conceptions are colored in so many different ways. You 've heard her Elizabeth? Wonderful, isn't it? She was working on that part years ago when her mother was ill. I could see her anxiety and grief getting more and more into the part. The last act is heart-breaking. It 's as homely as a country prayer meeting: might be any lonely woman getting ready to die. It 's full of the thing every plain creature finds out for himself, but that never gets written down. It 's unconscious memory, maybe; inherited memory, like folk-music. I call it personality."
Fred laughed, and turning to the piano began coaxing the Fricka music again. "Call it anything you like, my boy. I have a name for it myself, but I shan't tell you." He looked over his shoulder at Landry, stretched out by the fire. "You have a great time watching her, don't you?"
"Oh, yes!" replied Landry simply. "I 'm not interested in much that goes on in New York. Now, if you 'll excuse me, I 'll have to dress." He rose with a reluctant sigh. "Can I get you anything? Some whiskey?"
"Thank you, no. I 'll amuse myself here. I don't often get a chance at a good piano when I 'm away from home. You have n't had this one long, have you? Action 's a bit stiff. I say," he stopped Landry in the doorway, "has Thea ever been down here?"
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