"Who feels he is indebted to me because I pumped him for coin," was what Walter had written. Then there really did exist such touching creatures in the world.

"But I am most grateful to him for the confidence he showed in me by bequeathing his betrothed to me, so to speak."

The Song of Songs — Part 194

"Betrothed!" The word had been uttered. She had not deceived herself. It frightened her, but she did not repudiate it. Until that day she had not even dreamed of considering Walter and herself bound to each other, neither herself, nor the poor little fellow who did not know how to care for himself, much less for a wife and child. But then--in the eyes of this man with his middle-class morals, that was the only justification for her bungled, ill-regulated existence. And not only in his eyes--in the eyes of the whole world--and, if she cared, in her own eyes, too. If she clung to the man who was practically dead to her, fastening upon him all her wishes and feelings, she would have a support for her entire being. She could ask for absolution and justification even before God.

The Song of Songs — Part 194

All this flashed through her mind with lightning rapidity while Mr. Dehnicke continued to asseverate his friendship for Walter, and look at her with his round eyes in undesirous adoration. Finally he came to the point.

The Song of Songs — Part 194

"In his place and for his sake I advise you most urgently to quit surroundings that do not suit you, and create an environment in keeping with your past. If you ever wish to realise your plans you will have to."

"What has my environment to do with my art?" queried Lilly, shrugging her shoulders.

"Well, in the first place you must have a studio where you can receive your customers--where you can show them who you are and the extent of your artistic demands, and what the real nature of your artistic intentions are. That is the only way of preventing your customers from treating and paying you like an ordinary worker."

"But the customers don't come to me," she interjected.

"They should come to you," he exclaimed, talking himself into a degree of eagerness. "An artist with self-respect doesn't take one step outside his studio to offer his wares for sale. You must treat yourself the same way."

She mentally calculated the value of the rest of her brooches, rings, and bracelets, and rejoined with a smile: