"It is not the fashion to marry a girl who dances in short petticoats, and lives in an attic," she answered. "Perhaps such a girl might make a good wife, if a man had the courage to try the experiment. Such things have been done, I believe; but most men prefer the safer course. If I had been clever, I daresay Mr. Hamleigh would have married me; but I was an ignorant little fool--and when he came across my path he seemed to me like an angel of light. I simply worshipped him. You've no idea how innocent I was in those days. Not a carefully educated, lady-like innocence, like yours, don't you know, but absolute ignorance. I didn't know any wrong; but then I didn't know any right. You see I am quite candid with you." "I thank you with all my heart for your truthfulness. Everything--for you, for me, for Angus--depends upon our perfect truthfulness. I want to do what is best--what is wisest--what is right--not for myself only, but for Angus, for you." Those lovely liquid eyes looked at her incredulously. "What," cried Stella Mayne, with her mocking little laugh--a musical little laugh trained for comedy, and unconsciously artificial--"do you mean to tell me that you care a straw what becomes of me--that it matters to you whether I die in the gutter where I was born, or pitch myself into the Regent's Canal some night when I have a fit of the blue devils?" "I care very much what becomes of you. I should not be here if I did not wish to do what is best for you." "Then you come as my friend, and not as my enemy?" said Stella. "Yes, I am here as your friend," answered Christabel, with an effort. The actress--a creature all impulse and emotion--fell on her knees at Miss Courtenay's feet, and pressed her lips upon the lady's gloved hand. "How good you are," she exclaimed--"how good--how good. I have read of such women--they swarm in the novels I get from Mudie--they and fiends. There's no middle distance. But I never believed in them. When the man brought me your card I thought you had come to blackguard me." Christabel shuddered at the coarse word, so out of harmony with that vellum-bound Shelley, and all the graciousness of Miss Mayne's surroundings. "Forgive me," said Stella, seeing her disgust. "I am horribly vulgar. I never was like that while--while Angus cared for me." "Why did he leave off caring for you?" asked Christabel, looking gravely down at the lovely up-turned face--so exquisite in its fragile sensitive beauty.