"Yes, I know what you mean. In New York, when I was a tram-driver, there was a woman who always got into my car; and, without being in love with her, I used to think I should like to speak to her, to know her, to meet her . . ."
"And how often it is the other way round! I have met thousands of people and forgotten their names and what they said to me. They were like ghosts. That is how we meet people in society."
"Yes, it's all so futile . . ."
"You exchange names, exchange a few sentences . . . and nothing remains, not the slightest recollection . . ."
"Yes, it all vanishes."
"I was so often tired . . . of so many people, so many ghosts . . . I couldn't live like that now."
"Yet you have remained a society-woman."
"Oh, no, I am no longer that!"
And she told him how she had once thought of making her reappearance in Hague society; she told him about Van Naghel and Bertha.
"Are you on bad terms with your sister now?"
"Not on bad terms . . ."
"He died suddenly . . .?"
"Yes, quite suddenly. They had just had a dinner-party . . . It was a terrible blow for my sister. And I hear there are serious financial difficulties. It is all very sad . . . But this doesn't interest you. Tell me about yourself."
