Lilly saw herself reflected in a mirror as she sat in her place on the sofa, a radiant picture of composure and distinction. She had chosen a sunray pleated black Liberty silk dress with a bodice of Chantilly lace, which, despite its costliness, clung in the simplest lines gracefully about her neck and shoulders. An innocent masculine mind might easily believe that such a costume could be bought anywhere between San Francisco and St. Petersburg, or Cape Town and Christiania, for two hundred marks.
She had wisely left her jewellery at home. Only the slender gold chain, which she generally wore with a low bodice, encircled in maidenly unpretentiousness her high transparent collar.
She looked like a strictly reared young gentlewoman of quality making her first dêbut in the great world, full of shyness and curiosity.
Konrad occupied the chair on her right. The third place, nearest the door, his uncle had retained for himself.
From the moment he sat down to table he seemed to be in his element. He growled and issued orders, and found fault with everything.
"Look here, my boy," he said to the waiter as he placed the hors d'œuvres in front of him, "do you call that the correct decanter for port wine? Don't you know that if port wine doesn't sparkle in the decanter it assuages thirst?"
Intimidated by his bullying tone, the waiter was going off for another decanter, but Konrad's uncle declared he couldn't spare the time, he must have a "starter" straight away.
"I am still feeling a little stiff," he said apologetically, "I am unaccustomed to entertaining such very beautiful and at the same time stand-offish ladies."
Lilly felt a stab at her heart.
Her lover's eyes met hers with a glance full of reproach and encouragement which said: "You mustn't be so silent. You must try to be nice to him." And in the same mute language she answered humbly and deprecatingly: "I cannot; you talk for both of us."