She hid her face on the sofa arm shaken with a storm of shame and guilt. "Never mind," Mrs. Jula comforted her. "Nothing has happened yet." The bell rang. Lilly hurried to the kitchen to tell the maid to dismiss the visitor, but Mrs. Jula restrained her. "What's gotten into your head?" she whispered. "Would you have him think you're afraid of him? That way you'll never be rid of him. Laugh at him. Do you understand? _Laugh_ at him--long and hard." Lilly wanted to run after her and beg her to remain. Was she, Lilly, his match? He was already entering the room. Drawn to her full height she looked at him as at a dead enemy. "My dear child," he said, kissing her hand, which she quickly withdrew. He had exercised great care in dressing. He wore straw-coloured gloves, and held his silk hat pressed to his breast. His monocle danced on his white waistcoat. An air of smug self-confidence, of unpretentious mastery enveloped his being like a mild glory. The way he settled himself comfortably in his chair, the way he amiably crossed his legs indicated that of course she had been subjugated. Lilly was no longer fearful or timid, nor did she experience the pangs of disillusionment. She was simply possessed of cool, conscious curiosity. She followed each of his movements with astonished eyes, as he passed his hand over his shining hair cut brush fashion, and pulled his trousers up and exposed the red-dotted stockings on his ankles. She kept saying to herself: "So _that's_ what you are, _that's_ what you are." He began to speak in a soft, compassionate, caressing voice, while his peering eyes glided up and down her body. "You're excited, dear child. I understand. When two people like us are brought alone together for the first time in their lives, their feelings run away with them. Don't be ashamed. What led us to each other is such a delicate, subtle understanding--the fluid between us is of such a rare, fleeting quality--" "Yes--fleeting, especially," thought Lilly, "--that it would really be a shame if we did not taste every drop of it. And a superabundance of feelings would simply be a hindrance to the spiritual epicureanism in both of us, particularly in me." As he spoke, slightly smacking his lips and swaying back and forth, the refrain of a Viennese ditty in her repertoire occurred to her: "I have much too much sentiment." "He has much too much sentiment," she said to herself, and smiled involuntarily. He saw the smile, which she tried to conceal by lowering her face, but he misinterpreted it. "There is a coy virginity about you," he said with an admiring shake of his head, "which always fills me with astonishment." "Oh, you jackanapes," thought Lilly, and smiled again. Now he hesitated a bit. He had not had all his experience for nothing, and a flash of greed and suspicion darted from between his lids. "Oh," he continued, "has some of the delightful humour that you surprised us with last night remained over for to-day?"