Perhaps he knew some one who could make use of them? "Not that I know of," he replied disdainfully, though unable to withhold a glance at his own trousers. Perhaps he had met some one to whom he would be doing a favour if he gave him the suit? No, he could think of no one. Despite her fear of hurting him, Lilly said straight out, she didn't believe she was mistaken--a remarkable similarity of figure--though the general had measured a bit more about the waist--and if he wanted to entrust the suit to an inexpensive tailor-- The suggestion angered him. Did she think he was a charity case? Nobody could class him so low as that. He was a man of firm principles, and his principles would never permit him to wear a person's cast-off clothes. With a sigh Lilly desisted from her project. But he could not make up his mind to take leave. He sat in the drawing-room an interminable time. Finally she had to hint to him to go, because Richard might enter any moment. At the head of the stairs outside her door, he turned and asked, stuttering, whether the next time he might come in the evening. "Haven't you leisure any more in the middle of the day?" she demanded, taken aback. For Richard's sake she did not care to receive visitors late in the day. No, not that. So far as leisure was concerned, it was--it was--. He hung on, and Lilly listened fearfully for sounds on the staircase below. "Then what is it?" "I should like to think the matter over very carefully, and--and--" "Well, and?" "And if it's dark, perhaps I could take the package right along with me." With that he jumped down the steps. "The poor fellow, how he must choke down his pride!" she thought, looking after him. The same evening she sent him all the clothes by express, and pinned a letter inside, in which she excused herself again and again for enclosing a twenty mark note, in the first place, for a hat, in the second place, to spare him difficulties with the tailor. When he reappeared a few days later, he was scarcely recognisable. The suit fitted him to perfection, and in order to keep the tips of his boots from turning up--they were too long for him--he had stuffed them with cotton wads. Even the maid sent him friendlier glances. A pity he would not part with his beard and the tousled shock of hair. But for that disfigurement you might even appear on the street with him. His cheeks had filled out, and his eyes had improved, thanks to the help of the physician to whom Lilly had dragged him by main force; and gradually his manners softened down. He no longer gulped his food, or picked his teeth with his finger nails; and he learned how to drink claret. His inner being, like his external appearance, also began to reflect the peaceful comfort of the hospitable home. He abused with discrimination, and sometimes even the crime of happiness seemed pardonable in his eyes. He displayed delightful tact in never probing into Lilly's situation, and she was grateful to him.