Lilly thanked him amiably for all he had done for her, regretted having caused him the inconvenience of coming to see her, and all the while felt that with each word she was falling back more and more into the rôle of the "general's wife"--partly against her will--who does the honours in her drawing-room with courteous condescension. Gradually she turned the conversation in "by-the-ways" to her art. She said she was sorry she was so incompetent, and pointed to the transparencies at the windows. Mr. Dehnicke jumped up. He was silent for a while, then burst into exclamations of enthusiasm, for each of which he had to take a fresh start, as it were, reiterating his praises with a certain business-like monotony of tone, and smiling in an embarrassed way. Lilly was far too delighted to suspect the tone of his criticism. "Have you shown them to Mr. Kellermann?" asked Mr. Dehnicke. Lilly confessed to her lack of courage. "Besides," she added, "I felt I ought to show them to you first." He looked at her gratefully and worshipfully, and said: "If you haven't done so yet, I advise you to refrain from ever showing them to him. Despite his apparent willingness, the man is obsessed by inordinate professional conceit, and it might be--" Mr. Dehnicke seemed to fear to say more. Lilly plucked up her courage, and asked, as if it were a matter of only slight importance, whether he thought anyone would buy her work. Mr. Dehnicke became silent again, and with his index finger scratched at the left side of his upper lip under his moustache. Then he inclined his smooth, round head still more to the left, and said weighing each word: "It would be best if you were to entrust the sale of your transparencies to me. I have certain connections and I know the character of the buyers. If I set the glass in bronze frames, or something of the sort, I might even dispose of them as goods of my own." Lilly flushed with gratitude. "Oh, will you?" she cried, grasping his hand. "At least until I have found customers for myself?" The pressure of her hand caused him to redden to the roots of his hair. "In order to do that," he said, looking away from her with an abashed expression, "you must move away from here at once and establish a home worthy of yourself." "I will gladly," she answered gaily, "as soon as I have earned the wherewithal." "That may mean years." "I will wait years." "May I be permitted," he stammered, "to remind you once more that being an old and intimate friend of your betrothed, I am justified--" Lilly drew herself up. "If my betrothed," she said, "ever should or could take care of me, I might not have to refuse. But as it is, I may not allow anybody in the world, not even his dearest friend, to make offers which at best would merely humiliate me." She turned her face aside to hide her tears, which arose from a sense of insult. Mr. Dehnicke contritely begged her pardon, but something like a bit of fluttered triumph sat in his eyes.