"Yes," said the dancer frankly, and began to walk on slowly, as the ten minutes were nearly up, "and I'll tell you why. You are a lonely man, who has no home, no relations, no centre in life, if I may put it so. Having an intensely domestic nature--that nature which makes an admirable husband, a devoted father, and which is domestic in its essence--you want a wife to create a centre round which you can revolve. I happen to be passably good-looking, to have some good qualities, and to be an agreeable companion. Therefore, liking me, you mistake that liking for love, and offer me a respectable but dull future. Any other woman, decently kind and presentable, would suit you just as well as I would, and with her you would believe yourself to be in love as you think you are with me. But a happy marriage is not built up upon such a foundation, Mr. Hench, believe me. A woman wants love, she wants a heart. You can give me neither." "And Mr. Bracken can?" "Yes! Otherwise I wouldn't marry him. If mother is successful and can get me a West End engagement, I daresay I'll have plenty of men fluttering about me, and can pick and choose amongst lovers of higher rank and with more money than poor Ned has. But I won't find one who loves me as he does." "I don't quite understand the kind of love you mean," murmured Hench, perplexed. "Of course you don't, for the very simple reason that you require an explanation. True love comes from within and not from without. When you really feel the passion you require no explanation. Come and tell me when you really fall in love, Mr. Hench, if I am not right." "Where did you learn how to talk in this way?" asked Hench, who was beginning to see that she was right. "Experience has taught me, and experience is a great teacher. I am older than you think, Mr. Hench." "You are only three and twenty. Your mother told me so." "I am older in experience, for you know that a woman is always twice as old as a man in the ways of the world. However, here is the Bijou, and I must go in to get ready for my work. You understand what I mean, don't you?" "Yes. I daresay my love is of a very feeble quality." "Don't be bitter and don't pity yourself, Mr. Hench. Your liking for me is perfectly honourable, and I am sure you would make a kind husband. But love--you know nothing of love. I said that before, I fancy, and I say it again." She offered her gloved hand. "Come! Let us be friends, nothing nearer, nothing dearer. Otherwise you will make me unhappy." Round the corner of the music-hall, where no one was about, Hench bent over Zara's hand and kissed it. "Let it be as you say," he said firmly; "all the same, I envy Bracken his future wife." "You will meet a woman who will suit you better than I will," Zara assured him, and her great black eyes shone. "When you do, come and tell me how wholly correct I have been. And another thing, Mr. Hench, don't let mother bully me about you."