"I hope I may be allowed to be free from insult in my own house," she said, as she rose and—with a wonderful dignity, and pride, and grace that abashed and awed him—walked out of the room. A dim sort of compunction seized him, and he would willingly have followed her, and begged her to pardon what he had said. Then he, too, felt a little hurt, remembering that he was a Count, and she an actress. Finally, he quietly withdrew, found a servant at the door waiting to let him out, and departed from the house with a heavy heart. "A woman’s ’no’ generally means ’yes,’" he said to himself, disconsolately trying to extract comfort from the old proverb. He would not despair. Perhaps the time had been inopportune. Perhaps he should have postponed the crisis when he learned of Mrs. Christmas’s death. Then he reflected, that he had been so intent on his own purpose as to forget to offer the most ordinary condolences. "That is it," he said. "She is offended by my having spoken at such a time." The Count was a shifty man, and invariably found hope in the mere fact of having something to do. There was yet opportunity to retrieve his blunder. So he drove to the office of Cayley & Hubbard, and found his meek brother sitting in his room. "I never come to see you except when I am in trouble," said the Count, with a grim smile. "I am always glad to see you, Frederick. What is your trouble now?" "Oh, the old affair. She has left the theatre, as you know; she has lost that old woman; she is quite alone and penniless; and, this morning, when I offered to make her my wife, she said no." "What were her reasons?" "A woman never has any. But I think I vexed her in making the proposal when the corpse was lying in the next room. It was rather rum, wasn’t it? And then she had been crying, and very likely did not wish to be disturbed. However, I don’t despair. No. Look at her position. She _can’t live_ unless she accepts assistance from me." "Unless——" Mr. John Hubbard did not complete the sentence, but his face twitched more nervously than ever. "Who _could_ tell her?" asked the Count, angrily. "She may get assistance from those other people——" "The Anerleys?" replied the Count, with a splendid laugh. "Why, man, every penny of old Anerley’s money is with Miall & Welling. Safe keeping there, eh? Bless you, she has no alternative—except this, that she’s sure to run off and disappear suddenly in some wild attempt at becoming a governess. I know she means something that way." "And then you’ll lose sight of her," said the thin-faced brother, peering into the slip of grey sky visible through the small and dusty window. What _his_ thoughts were at this moment he revealed to his wife at night.