After this hour, spiced by all sorts of sweets, followed the promenade at twilight, which proved highly advantageous for establishing possible connections, and provided the subjects needed for discussion at home.
It would not be stating the full truth to say that Mrs. Asmussen brought a loving sympathy to bear in her judgment of this kind of life. Certainly not. The mutual adulation of the first few days had given place to a period of sultriness, when cutting remarks flashed in the murky atmosphere like streaks of lightning. Then a season of protracted storm set in, and mishaps occurred in swift succession, gradually becoming so purely a matter of course that even Lilly, who at first had wept and screamed along with the other three, began to consider this the normal condition of the Asmussen household. Abusive epithets of unsuspected vigor flew hither and thither, and the place resounded with cuffings. Even the broom, which in the beginning had not been given a thought, was now drawn into its strictly limited field of activity.
Peace did not come until evening, when Mrs. Asmussen's medicine asserted its rights. The two girls might have taken advantage of her oblivion to give free play to their desires, had not their highly developed sense of propriety strictly forbidden going out at night.
"Persons meeting us would take us for fast girls," they said, "and then no wedding bells for us."
One would scarcely believe with what a number of conventions the young ladies circumscribed their apparently unrestrained existence.
You may let yourself be kissed as much as you like, but on no account kiss back.
You may let a gentleman call you by your first name in conversation, but if he does so in a letter it is an insult.
You may let a gentleman treat you to coffee and cake, but not to bread and butter.
You may let a strange man tread on your foot, but if he attempts to press your hand under the table you must get up.
And so on.
Lilly had absolutely no comprehension for this set of thoughts and desires. Hitherto man as a male had been a piece of life non-existent in bodily form, which came to her notice on occasions, but glided by like a stranger without holding her attention. She had solely loved the man of her dreams, the man of her novels, the man of her own creation. The thing that stared at her on the street, the thing that came to exchange books and found all sorts of little pretexts for entering into conversation with her, the thing that officiously held aside the wadded curtain of the church door as she entered, or played the amiable over a shop counter, this thing was a strange, annoying fact; it was stupid and brazen, a matter of unspeakable indifference, to think of which would be a waste of time and a degradation.
A girl's entire life, she now learned, was here simply for the sake of that gross and disgusting race; and a girl could concern herself about them from the moment she rose to the moment she fell asleep, without cherishing the thought of the one for whom she had been created as for work and faith and God.
Though Lilly knew she was infinitely above being influenced by the two girls' advice and example, she felt, in spite of herself, a small desire arising within her to find out what the nature of those creatures might be about whom such a fuss was made, whose approval brought pleasure, whose coldness meant annihilation.
She was beset by a tormenting fear of that dreadful, seething world outside there, of the dirt that was carried to her door every day anew, and of the disquieting curiosity with which she picked it up to examine it. For whether or no, her thoughts would return to the gay pictures, painted in colors of poison, which the two sisters, growing ever more demoralized, unrolled before her eyes evening after evening.
It was a piece of good fortune that the hot friendship both at first bestowed upon her cooled off somewhat after a month or so.
The cause was the enigmatic shortage in the cash box, which occurred time and again, and came to be a permanent phenomenon. Lilly would spend hours calculating feverishly, entering and counting every cent, until finally there was no other conclusion to be reached than that some one had used the few moments of her absence to dip into the drawer where the box was kept.
In order to save herself—in case of discovery she would be accused of the theft—she once carried the key of the drawer away with her as if unintentionally, and did so repeatedly, until the girls' manner, which had grown increasingly estranged and scornful, assured her that she was on the right tack.
On one occasion they gave vent to their wrath and disillusionment.
Did she, stray dog that she was, think she was mistress of the place? If need be, books and keys would be taken from her by force.
In mortal fright Lilly ran to the mother and threatened to leave that instant unless she was allowed to control affairs as before.
Mrs. Asmussen, who knew her scapegrace offspring through and through, took sides with Lilly, and the storm seemed to have blown over.
The girls took to entreaty and in reawakened intimacy gave Lilly new and comprehensive views into the depths of their soul life.
Did she think they cared a row of pins for the miserable little meringues they ate at Frangipani's? Not a bit of it. They were clever enough to know how to provide for the future. At any rate they couldn't stay with that old guzzler forever, especially since the place had turned out to be absolutely unproductive in regard to good matches. So for a long time they had been saving money industriously for another flight. It was no exaggeration to say they were starving themselves miserably. Lilly with her paltry desires could have no idea how many temptations they withstood when they sat at a table in the confectionery shop at suppertime, and had to look upon all sorts of glorious goodies without tasting them.
Lilly remained unmoved by their persuasive wiles. Their manner cooled off again, and they began to pass her by, tacitly showing their sense of injury.
Soon events occurred that fanned their enmity into a lively fire.
CHAPTER X
It was dusk of a wet November day. The spouts were streaming and an endless chain of grey drops glided down the iron rods of the porch railing and fell precipitously into the pool gleaming on the pavement below.
A miserable sort of sport to watch the game! But what better diversion had the day to offer?
Suddenly the front door opened, the library bell rang sharply, and in came a nimble little fellow, capering and stamping, and exhaling an aroma of Russia leather and Parma violets. His coat collar was turned up and his hat pulled far down. His close-cut blond hair shone like yellowish-white velvet.
He measured Lilly from between lids masterfully narrowed to a slit with a cursory and apparently disillusioned glance, threw out a strident "good evening," and examined the back part of the room, as if expecting some one to emerge from behind the bookcases and give him a special greeting.
Lilly asked what she could do for him.
"Oh, you are the young lady in charge of the circulating library?" he asked. The existence of such a young lady seemed to transport him into a kind of careless gaiety.
Lilly said she was.
"Splendid!" he replied. "Just splendid!" And a thousand little merry devils danced in his blinking, white-lashed eyes.
Lilly asked what book he wished.
"Be it known to you, most honored and erudite miss, I am not exactly familiar with German literature and the allied sciences, but ever since yesterday I have been possessed of a fabulous and downright sophomoric zeal for culture. If you would help me with your valuable—"
He came to a sudden halt, stuck a monocle in his eye, looked