"Oh, yes, I daresay. But that is not quite good enough for me. I am a business woman, and I do not think the bargain is fair unless he loves me." "You think he doesn't?" "I am certain he doesn't." "Why?" "Firstly--because he tries so hard.... And then, also, there is another reason. This morning, when I told him that I would not marry him, he was glad." "_Glad_? No--no----" "He was. I could see the relief come into his eyes. His mind was full of thoughts about his friends in England, and about the railway accident--he really didn't want to bother about _me_. And when I refused him he looked so grateful. He was glad because it made it easier for him to go to England. He _does_ want to go to England. And I--all _I_ want is for the best to happen--the best for _him_." I told her frankly that I was disappointed, and that I thought she was making a great mistake. She ought, I said, to have accepted him; he would soon have come to love her afterwards. "Or else to hate me," she said quietly. "Oh, that's absurd, Mizzi." "No, no. He cannot help loving _her_--maybe, some day, if we were married, he could not help hating _me_. You see, I am cautious. I look to the future." "And you really think that the best future for him is that he should see Helen?" "I think the worst future is that he should stay here when all his body and soul are craving to be away." "But I can't understand why you are so willing to let him go." She said then, with a half-ironical shrug of the shoulders: "Ah, that is very hard to understand, I know. Maybe it is because I am selfish and care nothing for these two people whom I have never seen--nothing at all in comparison with _him_." And that was as far as I could get with her. She had refused him, and all the arguing in the world wouldn't convince her that she oughtn't to have done, or me that she ought. VI I saw her again for a few moments while I paid my bill. I said that it was quite within the bounds of possibility that Terry would return to Vienna after a short interval, and that therefore it might be advisable to keep his room for him. Would she do this, and let me pay the charge without his knowing? She told me that there would be no charge, and when I protested she said: "You can think of it, if you like, as my farewell gift to him, for I think I shall never see him again." I demurred to that, but she only shrugged her shoulders and said: "It is a feeling I have." I asked her then if she would see Karelsky and give him some explanation of Terry's sudden departure; and she nodded all-comprehendingly. Never had she been more the calm, business woman; and it was _that_--the utter perfection of her pose--that I shall never forget.