It was all so hopeless, so tangled. I leaned against the mantel, relieved by his going, but unutterably lonely. Just for a moment I feared the brilliant future that stretched in vista--without love, it looked an endless level of tedium and weariness. My bitterness towards John melted and the years we had known each other unrolled themselves before me--happy, innocent years. I felt his strength and gentleness, and of a sudden something clutched at my throat. Sob followed sob; I shook in a tearless convulsion. Only for an instant. Then I, too, turned to leave the room, but fate or instinct had brought John back and I was startled by his voice:-- "Nelly, tell me!" He did not come near me. There was no gust of passion in his tone, yet I felt as never before the depth of his tenderness. He had not come back to woo, but as the old friend, ambitious of helpfulness. "Helen," he said, "how can I leave you, who need protection more than any other woman, so terribly alone?" I didn't fear I might be tempted, but I quavered out:-- "John, go away. I've wronged you enough. I never loved you; I've no faith in love. I never loved you at all, and--you must have seen, lately, that I have changed--that I've become a very--a very mercenary woman. I can't afford to marry a poor man." My lips quivered, for this was the cruelest lie of all; I have changed, but I'm not money loving. And I couldn't deceive him. He smiled queerly, but he must have thought time his ally, for he only said:-- "Money can buy you nothing; you might leave gewgaws to other women. But you are less mercenary than you think yourself; and you will always know that I love you; let it rest with that, for now." So he went away the second time, leaving me with my hands clenched and my teeth set--so fierce had been my fight to seem composed. As I sank breathless into a chair, and my tense fingers relaxed, out from my right hand rolled the little opal ring. I hadn't returned it, after all; had been gripping it all the time, unknowing. At sight of it, I burst into hysterical laughter. And that madly merry laughter is the end. I should go crazy if I yielded to love that I can't return, and I should despise him if he accepted. A husband not too impassioned, a fair bargain--beauty bartered for position, power, for a name in history--that is all there is left to me, now that love has vanished. The farm! I couldn't go back, to isolation and dull routine! I told John I might go abroad. Why not? I might see the great capitals, and in the splendour of palaces find a fitting frame for my beauty. There may be salve for heartache in the smile of princes. At any rate, the seas would flow between me and Ned Hynes. I had forgotten my ambitions. I'd have said to Ned: "Whither thou goest I will go;" but if what he feels for me is not love--if in his heart he hates me for the witchery I've put upon him-- I could go abroad with a title, if I chose. If love lies not my way, there is Strathay.