It would be wide of the truth to aver that no happy star favoured Lilly's ripened love.

In the first place Adele proved to be a circumspect ally, thoroughly accustomed to be uncommunicative and passionately devoted to the cause of Lilly's lover. In the second place Richard, who had gone to his mother in Harzburg that epoch-making Sunday, had remained away the greater part of a week instead of one day. And in the third place, upon visiting her on his return, he was so preoccupied with himself and his own affairs as not to notice in the least Lilly's guilty embarrassed reception of him.

He affected a highly lofty mien and talked through his nose, as always when he pulled his soul together, as it were, and became vividly conscious of having once been a cavalry officer. He even wore his monocle again hanging down over his navy-blue silk waistcoat.

All of which taken in conjunction with the crafty expression with which he blinked his eyes and steadily looked past Lilly and dropped his head on his left shoulder, gave sufficient ground for the welcome assumption that he had delayed the visit to his mother and, instead,—like Lilly herself—had taken a side excursion À deux into the blossoming world of spring.

The conjecture, however, proved to be false.

Richard had been in Harzburg the whole time and intended to return the very next day for a longer stay of at least four weeks.

"What's the matter?" he exclaimed in alarm.

Lilly, overwhelmed by the veritable tempest of happiness that burst upon her, had reeled and sunk on the arm of a chair.

She instantly collected her wits again and denied that she had been overcome. Nevertheless, he remained full of solicitude, kissed her on her neck again and again, and would not permit her to go to the trouble of pouring out the tea for him. A guilty conscience peeped from every pore of his being.

"Unfortunately," he said, trying to return to his former lofty manner, "unfortunately there's no longer a chance of our taking a trip together. Anyhow—we've gotten too used to each other. Both of us will have to practise getting along without each other. It's highly desirable we should. We certainly should."

His words sounded like familiar music coming from a great, great distance.

"Confess," she said smiling. "What is it this time?"

Out he came with it, stuttering and choking over his words.

An American heiress—of German extraction—millions and millions—not millions of marks, but millions of dollars—very stylish and chic—a wonderful piece of luck—mama in a quiver to have it go through—her parents favourably disposed—she, too, evidently not disinclined. This time or never.

"Congratulate you," said Lilly, giving him a friendly handshake.

He looked at her with large, astonished, and somewhat reproachful eyes.

"Is that all?" he asked.

"Why—what else?"

"How can you remain so cool? Doesn't the thought that your old friend is about to leave you move you in the least? I took you to be more loving, more sympathetic. I certainly did."

"Please remember," said Lilly, "you reproach me the same way each time you make up your mind to marry because I don't want to be a hindrance to you. You always act as if I had dismissed you, and not you me."

He burst into expostulations.

"Dismiss—what language you use! You haven't the least idea of what's going on within me—how I struggle and wrestle with myself. Why, I haven't slept for nights thinking what will become of you. But you behave as if it didn't concern you in the least! Altogether you're—frivolous! You have no feelings—now you know it."

While he spoke, pictures of her approaching freedom danced before her eyes—nights of unshackled, glowing love, days full of sweet, vague dreams.

What followed lay as far off as the end of the world.

Smiling good-humouredly, she listened, and never even responded.

"Though your future doesn't seem to worry you," he continued to upbraid her, "I must give it all the more consideration. I must provide for you, and mama quite agrees with me."

The word "mama" tore her from her world of dreams.

Since the terrific encounter in Richard's office, it had scarcely ever passed their lips. They had employed a thousand circumlocutions and substitutes which they understood and which each appreciated in the other.

Now "mama" suddenly rang in her ears, the symbol of her disgraced existence.

"Oh," she cried, "if she's in it, it's bound to be humiliating to me. I'll tell both of you one thing: take good care not to make a proposition to me about money, or support, or anything of the sort. I'd consider it an outrageous insult, for which you could never make amends."

He ran up and down the room wringing his hands.

"What are you talking about again! Quite apart from the fact that I'd be eternally disgraced in the eyes of the world. Woman, don't you know you're ruined if I turn you adrift empty-handed? Don't you know where you'd go to? To the bars and brothels! Don't you know it?"

In blissful absentmindedness Lilly looked past him and his gallant zeal.

"There are other ways," she whispered half to herself.

"What ways?" he cried, "Marriage, forsooth? What decent man would marry you after you've been my mistress for four years?"

"There are other ways than that, too," she repeated still smiling.

She saw a life full of fight and vigour, a tossing hither and thither through storm and stress, a jubilant triumph which led her into the community of those who were as proud and true as he.

But all that would come later, much, much later. Why think of it now?

Richard put his own construction upon her words. He fixed his eyes upon her suspiciously, and stopping in front of her, asked with a shudder:

"I say—are you going to do something foolish?"

She burst out laughing. Probably he already saw her beautiful corpse taken from the water and stretched on the bier.

"No, I won't do anything foolish. Certainly not for your sake. And even if I intended to, I'd have the good taste not to threaten you with it."

He drew a deep breath of relief, though by no means quite calmed.

"At any rate," he said, "I greatly dislike your poking here alone. You'll simply get the blues and feel irritated at me. I say, while I'm gone, wouldn't you like to take a little trip to a bath—Ahlbeck, or Schreiberbau, or some other place of the sort, where respectable people go?"

Nothing on the surface but a faint twitch of her eyelids betrayed the laugh of scorn that shook her internally.

"You know," she said, "I don't like to make up to people, and so I'd be all the more alone."

He wrinkled his forehead lost in thought.

"Well—then—" He hesitated and chewed his words as people are wont to do when they dread their own bravery, "—then—it would be best if you—come and stay near—"

"Near—near what?"

"Oh, don't act that way. You know what I mean."

"I do, but I cannot believe it."

"What's so awful about it? I could look after you now and then—or talk over matters—different things."

"And show her to me so as to get my opinion and my blessing—eh?"

"Well and supposing it's so? The way we are to each other—the way we haven't done a thing for years without asking each other's advice, what's so monstrous about it?"

Lilly felt a patronising pity arise within her. She stroked his hands and said:

"Dear friend, I don't think I'd furnish the right sort of assistance to you in your courtship."

Her superior tone increased his ill-humour.

"Goodness gracious! 'Assistance,' 'courtship!' You talk as if you were on the stage. Altogether you're so puffed up—so puffed up! Of course you simply want to revenge yourself on me by making me angry. I must say it's not at all noble of you at such a time."

She laughed and stretched herself. How low it all was! How ridiculous! And how indifferent to her! After all did it concern her?

To be alone—alone with him! There was nothing else in the world beside that.

"Then you don't want to?"

She shook her head, "No."

"Very well."

He prepared to leave in anger, but lacked the strength.

"Lilly."

"Hm?"

"I'd like to avoid any misunderstandings. You seem to think I'm not in earnest this time."

"By no means, Richard. I wish you all possible happiness. But really, with the best of intentions, I can be of no service to you in this affair."

"Of service to me! Of service to me! Who's speaking of service to me? Mama was quite right. If I break off this time, there won't be anything else for me any more. So make it quite clear to yourself. In a few weeks all's over between us."

"So much the better," she came near saying. But she saw the tears in the corners of his eyes, and refrained from hurting him.

Four years lived together lay behind them. He was too tightly tied to her apron strings. She felt she ought not to let him go without her advice and encouragement.

So she spoke to him as to a child. She said his mother was right, praised his project, and counted up all the reasons why it absolutely had to be. In order to calm him as to her own attitude, she recalled how it had always been her ambition to let him feel his freedom and never stand in his way. She also assured him she would cherish friendly sentiments for him until the end of her days.

Finally, on parting, they both wept.