Yet--she asked herself this question frequently--how could she believe that Owain loved her, when she had heard from his own lips that he had proposed to another girl? Gwen considered that she had been very generous in forgiving his masquerading, although she admitted that under the circumstances the assumption of a false name had been pardonable. But that he should have loved some one else, and should have proposed to that some one, seemed to her to be monstrous. It was impossible for her to forget or forgive such a thing. She assured herself that self-respect demanded the adoption of this merciless attitude, but the cause of it--which she would not admit--was really jealousy. But whatever it was the feeling made her wretched, and for long hours the poor child tossed and turned and shivered and wept, as she wondered what her future was likely to be. She had youth, she had beauty, she had money, but all these desirable things were as dust and ashes, lacking the companionship of the man she loved. And as he had condemned himself out of his own month she could not see how the position of things was to be altered. In her bluff way, Mrs. Perage was very sorry for the girl, as she saw how truly genuine was her suffering. The old lady strongly sympathized with that despairing feeling of youth which believes that the world has come to an end because things do not turn out as expected. Not that she believed Gwen's world had ended, but understood easily enough how the girl thought so. To put matters right, Mrs. Perage set herself to work in the hope of proving that the sun was merely obscured for the moment. For a day and a night she left the sufferer alone, so that she might get over the first stage of misery and anger. Then the old dame entered the bedroom and proceeded to develop her scheme, which she hoped would put the crooked straight. "Well, my dear," she said in a brisk and heartless manner, as she seated herself on the bed, "have you overcome your fit of self-pity?" "Oh, how unkind you are," wailed Gwen, who did not expect such a speech. "My heart is broken." "No, my dear, your vanity is hurt." "Vanity? I have no vanity." "Well, well, we will call it pride, self-respect, dignity, or any other pretty name which appeals to you," said Mrs. Perage complacently. "Anyhow, you can't lie here amongst the ruins of your life. Have some breakfast and get up." "I can't eat and I can't drink. How can you expect me to?" cried Gwen, who was intensely exasperated by this matter-of-fact speech. "You will make me angry, Mrs. Perage." "I want to, since anger will make you see things in a more sensible light. You can't live on air, you know, my dear, or on love either, especially as this last is nonexistent."