"Ah, so you say! But when the dreary void comes, and _he_ grows more and more unsatisfying and colourless, you have nothing to say to each other, and you mustn't have children.... None of us have them, because we all know how to prevent their coming. He lets you have no part or lot in his affairs, and you feel behind everything how his family hates you. _They_ think we are a species of harpy. And then how constantly he proclaims his intention of marrying when he wants most to annoy us! And, above all, there's the longing ... it's like an everlasting dead gnawing toothache ... yes, it's just like toothache. Wherever you are, it torments you. For life cannot end like this, you say to yourself; something must happen at last. Oh, it's ten times worse than marriage! Wait and see if it isn't...." Lilly's heart became ever sorer at her words. A wild misery clutched her. "Pray say no more," she begged. "If it's to be, it'll come soon enough. I don't want to think about it." "You are right, darling," said Frau Jula; "it does no good." And she took her leave. "You won't forget your promise?" Lilly reminded her from the top of the stairs. "Never; no, never! I swear it." And she glided out. With a whirling brain, Lilly went back to the darkened drawing-room and leaned absently and dejectedly out of the open window to breathe in the freshness of the evening air. She watched the tiny woman who had just come out at the front entrance trip lightly and gracefully along the pavement. A man in a tall hat and patent-leather shoes passed her, then hesitated, stopped, and turned back again. As he came up with her he lifted his hat with exaggerated courtesy. By the light of the street-lamp Lilly saw her face upturned to his, full of curiosity, and with an ingratiating smile, and then they walked on--together. CHAPTER IX Richard was reluctant to conform to a more temperate manner of life. He was still eager to be seen with Lilly and to have her admired. But little Frau Jula's lecture had really touched his conscience, and he had not the nerve to set it at defiance. Nevertheless, he sulked and brooded and yawned, and seemed so bored that Lilly, to cheer him up, was on the point of volunteering to accompany him to the next race-meeting, when news reached her that her mother was dead. She cried a great deal, and her grief was in proportion to the tenderness of her heart, which was very soft. But in reality her mother had been dead to her for so long that the sorrow she felt at her actual death could not be very deep or lasting.