If she could only do away with that ridiculous superstition about Walter, which he probably half believed, like herself, and half bolstered up for the sake of propriety. And then another thing gave her food for reflection. In spite of her often-expressed desire to see the factory, he never volunteered to take her over it. It almost seemed as if he objected to be seen with her on his own premises. He often talked about his mother, however, and was not shy of confessing how much he was influenced by her, though he made it plain that he would prefer to have more freedom to carry out his schemes and develop his powers. When his father died--twelve years before--he had not been of age, and had been obliged to submit to his mother's rule. The old lady's regime continued, and every new enterprise was discussed with her, and if she approved it was put into execution, even if he were opposed to it. Lilly felt awaking within her a dull aching terror of the old lady who lived behind the bourgeois flower-pots and issued commands from her armchair, which were obeyed by so great a man as her benefactor. She pictured the moment of making her acquaintance with a sinking heart. * * * * * Towards Christmas she was again busy. Two dozen new designs for windows had been ordered, and must be finished before the festive day. A future seemed once more to open before her. For the first time in four years she forgot to send her mother's Christmas present to the asylum. Instead, she made Herr Dehnicke's mother a particularly "poetic" lamp-shade, and sent it anonymously to the house on the morning of Christmas Eve. Why she did it, she did not know herself. Perhaps it was a propitiatory offering such as nervous souls were in the habit of making of old to unknown gods for unknown offences. She had made a little pile of gifts for her friend, though uncertain that he would turn up, and she listened for his ring with a beating heart. Her fears were groundless, for at half-past five he appeared, in the twilight of the hall, as loaded with parcels as old Father Christmas himself! He had selected them with tact and discretion. There were little things that she wanted for domestic use in the flat, a set of embroidered collars, a Persian lamb boa--to save her sables--a few trifles from the factory to adorn the still bare top of her escritoire. At every exclamation of delight she gave he modestly disclaimed thanks. Everything came, as she knew, from Walter. "And is there nothing from you?" she asked. "Nothing!" he replied, and turned his palms outwards. "Well then," she said, "if you'd like to know, there is something you can give me that Walter can't." "What can that be?" he asked. "Take me over your factory."