“Madame Koller,” said Olivia, haughtily, “may I beg that you will not bring my name into your personal affairs or Pembroke’s either? While I am under no obligation to tell you, I have no hesitation in saying that there is nothing whatever between him and me that the whole world may not know. He is not my lover and never has been.” Madame Koller looked at Olivia and laughed mirthlessly. “You sit there and tell me that as coolly as if you expected me to go home without saying another word. But I will not go, and I will speak. However, there is nothing that you need be angry about. Only this. Pembroke, you see, is poor. He has great gifts, but they will not bring him money for many years. He is extravagant--he is proud. He wants to go into public life--that he has told me. Imagine the terrible future of poverty and debt before him if he marries without a fortune. I can save him from all this. I am rich enough for both. Say that you will not stand in my way. I will remove the only obstacle in his path. I will give up everything. I will stay in this tedious land for his sake. He shall pursue any career he chooses. Think well what it is to rob such a man of his only chance of fortune and ease. For if he does not marry me, he will certainly marry you.” Olivia sat upright in her chair completely dazed. She forgot to be indignant. For the first time the truth enunciated by Madame Koller came home to her. Pembroke _was_ poor. He _was_ extravagant. He _was_ bent upon entering politics. Olivia had, as most women, a practical sympathy. She knew very well the horrors of poverty for such a man, and her portion would be but small. Madame Koller, seeing that she had made her impression, waited--and after a while continued. Her voice was low and very sweet. She seemed pleading for Pembroke’s salvation. “Pembroke, you know, is already deeply in debt. He cannot readily accommodate himself to the style of provincial living here. He would say all these things are trifles. I tell you, Olivia Berkeley, they are not trifles. They are second nature. Is it not cruel of God to make us so dependent on these wretched things? It was for these same wretched things that I endured torture for years--for money and clothes and carriages--just such things as that.” Olivia by a great effort recovered herself. “What you say is true, Madame Koller. But I will not--how can you ask me such things about a man who has never--never”--she stopped at a loss to express her meaning, which implied a reproach at Madame Koller’s want of delicacy. Madame Koller made a gesture of impatience. “What are promises?” she cried. “Nevertheless, I want you to see that if you marry Pembroke it will be his ruin. It would be most wicked selfishness.” “Madame Koller,” answered Olivia, rising, “I will not listen to any more.”