'It is seven years--seven years,' said Zoe, 'since I had my great quarrel with Philippa. She was eighteen then--and so was I--I charged her with throwing herself at your head, you know. So she did. So she does still. Why, the woman can't conceal, even now, that she loves you. I saw it in her eyes last night, I saw it in her attitude when she was talking to you. She swore after the row we had that she would never speak to me again. But you see she has broken that vow. I was eighteen then, and I was rich, a good deal richer than Philippa ever will be. When you and I became engaged I was twenty-one. That is four years ago, Alec. Yet, a year or two, and the girl you were--engaged to--will be thin and faded. For your sake, my dear boy, I hope that you will not keep her waiting very much longer before you present her to the world.' 'My dear child, could I help the smash that came--the smash and scandal? When the whole town was ringing with your father's smash and his suicide, and the ruin of I don't know how many people, was that the moment for us to step forward and take hands before the world?' 'No; you certainly could not. As a man of the world, you would have been justified in breaking off the thing--especially as it was only a day or two old.' 'I could not let you go, Zoe,' he said, with a touch of real tenderness. 'I was madly in love.' 'I think you were, Alec. I really think that at the time you were truly and madly in love. Else you would never have done a thing of which you repented the next day.' 'I have never repented, dear Zoe--never once.' 'Perhaps you calculated that something would be saved out of the smash. Perhaps, for once in your life, you never calculated at all upon anything. Well--I consented to keep the thing a secret.' 'You know that it was necessary.' 'You said so. I obeyed. But four years--four years--and no prospect of a termination. Consider!' She pleaded as she had spoken before, in the same soft, caressing, murmuring tone. 'I do consider, Zoe. You can have your freedom again. I have no right----' 'Nonsense! My freedom? It is your own that you want. My freedom?' she repeated, but without raising her voice. 'Mine? What could I do with it--now? Whither could I turn? Do not, I advise you, think that I will ever while I live restore your freedom to you.' 'I spoke in your own interest, believe me.' 'I am now what you have made me. You know what that is. You know what I was four years ago.' 'I have advised you, it is true.' 'No; you have led me. At the moment of my greatest trouble you made me break away from my own people, who were sorry for my misfortunes, and would have kept me among them in my own circle. There was no reason for me to leave them. The wreck of my father's fortune was not imputed to me. You persuaded me to assert my own independence, and to go upon the stage, for which I was as well fitted as for the kingdom of heaven.' 'I hoped--I thought--that you would succeed.'