There was a pause. Lilly could only discern the outline of his figure as he leaned against the balustrade, it had grown so dark. Drops of soft rain fell on her hair. She would have liked to stay there for ever, watching the dark young figure before her, and with the gentle moisture of spring anointing her head.
"You are engaged now in the Circulating Library?" he asked.
Lilly assented, and was grateful to him for the nice word "engaged," which seemed a little to ameliorate her lowly position.
"And you are going in for your examination?" she inquired.
"In the autumn--if all goes well," he replied with a sigh.
"And afterwards you will go out into the world," she gushed in copy-book language, "and fight your way in life? Ah, how I wish I were in your shoes."
"Why do you wish that, Fräulein?" he asked in surprise. "You are fighting your way in life now, are you not?"
Lilly laughed shrilly. "Oh, but if only I were you!" she exclaimed. "What wouldn't I--oh!"
She felt exultant; her limbs seemed to stretch, so that she scarcely knew how to sit still; the light of conquest flashed from her eyes, but there was no conquest really, for it remained unseen in the darkness.
She was so overcome, so mad with happiness, that she positively could not stay there, uttering stilted phrases, while within her something shouted: "You standing there with your arms on the balustrade, I love you."