“You see, Zai, the governor and her ladyship want a pull up and not a drag down--the family finances are so seedy that they want rich men for sons-in-law. Even a German prince wouldn’t find favour in their sight. They mean Trixy and you to marry Lord Delaval and Archibald Hamilton; they don’t care in the least which marries which, so long as both good _partis_ are secured. Baby will follow suit, directly you are both safely settled down with your money-bags. She is of that infantile sort that Shortland is supposed to have a fancy for, so probably the parents will go in for strawberry leaves for their youngest born. Zai, don’t you pity any man who marries Baby? She is the greatest little caution in life.” “And what are they going to do with _you_, Gabrielle?” Zai asks, ignoring the hits at Baby. “With _me_, oh, nothing. Nought can always take care of itself, for it never comes to harm, you know,” Gabrielle answers bitterly, “but _you_ are the one object of solicitude to Lady Beranger just now. Of course, with all her ambitious ideas, it does seem hard for you to subside into the wife of an actor, who has nothing to recommend him except a good-looking face, and a pleasant way of making love--a _rôle_ he goes through nearly every day of his life, so that practice has made it perfect.” “His chief recommendation is--_himself_!” Zai whispers with quivering lips, and another hot and fleeting blush. “Well, yes. _Je ne dis pas autrement!_ I haven’t a word to say against him. He is always nice to my face, though I don’t believe he likes me in his heart. You see I am not of your sort, Zai.” Zai smiles softly at this, and then, with a woman’s way of harping on love subjects when in love herself, says suddenly: “I wonder if Baby will marry Lord Delaval one of these days?” “Lord Delaval!” echoes Gabrielle, with a start and a frown. “And why on earth should she marry him?” “Because he has been fond of Baby as long as I can remember. When we were all children together, he used to fight her battles, and Baby at five was the most quarrelsome little monkey that you can imagine. She does not care for him now, but used to love sitting on his knee, and patting his cheeks, and _on revient toujours_, you know.” “No! I _don’t_ know,” Gabrielle answers with acerbity. Her big black eyes dilate as she takes in each unwelcome word and her full red lip curls scornfully. “I _do_ hate stupid little reminiscences of childhood, Zai. ‘I remember! I remember! when my little lovers came! With a lily or a cherry, or a new invented game!’ Did you ever hear such inane trash as this sort of thing, Zai! Are you a simpleton or are you trying to throw dust in my eyes? We know each other too well for that. Let us speak truth always. I like truth under all circumstances, even if the hearing of it crushes my heart and spoils my life; but of course let those live on lies who like them!”