Madge had not up till that moment proposed to do anything; she had not, in other words, considered the practical interpretation of this bewildering discovery. The fact that her silent, secret love--a love which she was determined to lock up forever in her own breast--was returned, was so emotionally overwhelming that as from some blinding light she could only turn a dazzled eye elsewhere. Her first instinct, at the moment at which that was declared to her, was of rapturous acceptance of it, but almost as instinctive (not quite so instinctive, since it had come second) was a shrinking from all that it implied--her rupture with Philip, his inevitable suffering, the pressure that she knew would be brought to bear on her. Yet the thing had to be faced; it was no use shrinking from it, and Lady Ellington's question reminded her of the obvious necessity for choice. Her choice indeed was made; it was time to think of what action that choice implied. But she answered quietly enough. "No, I have not yet thought of what I mean to do," she said. "I suppose we had better talk about it." Then Lady Ellington unmasked all her batteries. It was quite clear that Madge already seriously contemplated breaking off her engagement with Philip and marrying this artist. "Indeed, we had better talk about it," she said. "But I want to ask you one question first. Has Mr. Dundas the slightest notion that his feeling for you is reciprocated?" Madge thought over this a moment. "He has no right to think so," she said. "I--I have told you what occurred. The whole thing was but a few seconds." "There are various ways of spending a few seconds," said her mother. "But you think you spent them discreetly." Madge looked up with a sort of weary patience. "You mustn't badger me," she said. "It is no use. I did my best to conceal it." Then the bombardment began. "Very good; we take it that he does not know. Now let us consider what you are going to do. Do you mean to write a note to him saying, 'Dear Mr. Dundas, I love you?' If that is your intention, you had better do it at once. There is no kind of reason for delay. But if it is not your intention, taking that in its broadest sense to mean that you will not make known to him that you love him, dismiss that possibility altogether. Pray give me your whole attention, Madge; nothing that can occur to you in the whole of your life is likely to matter more than this." "But I love him," pleaded Madge, "and he loves me. Is not that enough? Must not something happen?" "I ask you whether you intend to do anything; that implies now that you, without further action on his part, will show him that you love him. The question just requires 'Yes' or 'No.'" "And supposing I decline to answer you?" asked Madge, suddenly flashing out. "I don't think you can do that. You see I am your mother; as such, I think I have a right to know what you propose to do."