"How can I marry you? I haven't a cent in the world." "I am not sure I would marry you if you had every cent in the world." Mike looked at her in despair. She was adorably frail and adorably pale. "This is very cruel of you." Words seemed very weak, and he feared that in the restlessness and pain of his love he had looked at her foolishly. So he almost welcomed Lady Helen's intrusion upon their _tete-a-tete_. "And this is the way you come for your dance, Mr. Fletcher, is it?" "Have they begun dancing? I did not know it. I beg your pardon." "And I too am engaged for this dance. I promised it to Mr. Escott," said Lily. "Let me take you back." He gave her his arm, assuring himself that if she didn't care for him there were hundreds who did. Lady Helen was one of the handsomest women in London, and he fancied she was thinking of him. And when he returned he stood at the door watching her as she leaned over the mantelpiece reading a letter. She did not put it away at once, but continued reading and playing with the letter as one might with something conclusive and important. She took no precaution against his seeing it, and he noticed that it was in a man's handwriting, and began _Ma chere amie_. The room was now empty, and the clatter of knives and forks drowned the strains of a waltz. "You seemed to be very much occupied with that young person. She is very pretty. I advise you to take care." "I don't want to marry. I shall never marry. Did you think I was in love with Miss Young?" "Well, it looked rather like it." "No; I swear you are mistaken. I say, if you don't care about dancing we'll sit down and talk. So you thought I was in love with Miss Young? How could I be in love with her while you are in the room? You know, you must have seen, that I have only eyes for you. The last time I was in Paris I went to see you in the Louvre." "You say I am like Jean Gougon's statue." "I think so, so far as a pair of stays allows me to judge." Lady Helen laughed, but there was no pleasure in her laugh; it was a hard, bitter laugh. "If only you knew how indifferent I am! What does it matter whether I am like the statue or not? I am indifferent to everything." "But I admire you because you are like the statue." "What does it matter to me whether you admire me or not? I don't care." He had not asked her for the dance; she had sought him of her free-will. What did it mean? "Why should I care? What is it to me whether you like me or whether you hate me? I know very well that three months after my death every one will have ceased to think of me; three months hence it will be the same as if I had never lived at all." "You are well off; you have talent and beauty. What more do you want?"