"But I don't care, you see; I don't care. Nothing matters to me at this moment but just our two selves! It's so easy for you to talk, Grizel. You are more than happy; you are content! I've never been content in all my life. I've been starved of all that really matters in a woman's life, and now, when I am offered a full meal, I must give it up and be hungrier than before! I am going to do what is right, for there is something in me which is stronger than passion, an inheritance, I suppose, from generations of stiff old Protestant ancestors,--but the doing of it will break my heart. According to the old ideas it should make me happy. Oh, Grizel, Grizel, it isn't true! How can I be happy if I give up Dane?" Grizel shook her head. "You can't. Not for a long, long time. You'll be miserable... There's only one thing, darling!" "Yes?" "It would be worse if you didn't! You may be unhappy as Bernard's wife, but you would be a hundred times more miserable as--Dane's mistress!" Cassandra flushed hotly. "He would marry me!" "I'm sure of it. If he could. But--" "Well, well! why discuss it; it is not going to happen. I'm going to live on at the Court, and set an example to the school-children, and keep Bernard's accounts... and grow old, and die, and be buried. That is all I have to look forward to, and you have this to remember, Grizel Beverley, that it was _you_ interrupted the one hour of perfect happiness that I have ever known!" "I'll stay away on Wednesday," Grizel said meekly, and they laughed together in feeble, halfhearted fashion. "But I'll come up later, and say everything all over again," she continued presently, "and I'll go _on_ saying it, as often as you need it, and do my penance that way... Take long views, Cassandra, darling, take long views! One isn't always young and ardent; it's only for a little spell, after all, and all the long, long time stretches ahead, when one has to be middle-aged, and elderly, and old... Think how thankful you'll be at forty, when the boy comes of age. Think how thankful you'll be at fifty, when the grandchildren begin to appear. Think what a far-off tale it will seem at sixty, when you don't want romance any more, but just to be quiet, and comfortable, and respected. And when you are seventy--" Cassandra stopped her with a hasty hand. "I'm not a bit interested in what I shall feel at seventy. I want to be happy _now_. I could say all these things to you, Grizel, if you were in my place, but they wouldn't help. I want to be loved!"