“Just a stranger within your gates,” she answered; and when the talk turned on a recent lawsuit, and the languid one said it was inconceivable that the woman concerned could have been such a coward in relation to the man, Glory protested that it was just as natural for a woman to be in fear of a man (if she loved him) as to be afraid of a mouse or to look under the bed. “_Ma chère_,” said a dainty little lady sitting next but one (she had come to London to perform in a silent play), “they tells me you's half my countrywoman. All right. Will you not speak de French to poor me?” And when Glory did so the little one clapped her hands and declared she had never heard the English speak French before. “Say French-cum-Irish,” said Glory, “or, rather, French which begat Irish, which begat Manx!” “Original, isn't she?” said somebody who was laughing. “Like a sea-gull among so many pigeons!” said somebody else, and the hothouse airs of the languid lady were lost as in a fresh gust from the salt sea. But her spirits subsided the moment she had recrossed the threshold. As they were going home in the cab, past the hospital and down Piccadilly. Rosa, who was proud and happy, said: “There! All society isn't stupid and insipid, you see; and there are members of your own profession who try to live up to the ideal of moral character attainable by a gentleman in England even yet.” “Yes, no doubt... But, Rosa, there's another kind of man altogether, whose love has the reverence of a religion, and if I ever meet a man like that--one who is ready to trample all the world under his feet for me--I think--yes, I really think I shall leave everything behind and follow him.” “Leave everything behind, indeed! That _would_ be pretty! When everything yields before you, too, and all the world and his wife are waiting to shout your praises!” Rosa had gone to her office, and Glory was turning over some designs for stage costumes, when Liza came in to say that the “Farver” was coming upstairs. “He has come to scold me,” thought Glory, so she began to hum, to push things about, and fill the room with noise. But when she saw his drawn face and wide-open eyes she wanted to fall on his neck and cry. “You have come to tell me you can't do what I suggested?” she said. “Of course you can't.” “No,” he said slowly, very slowly. “I have thought it all over, and concluded that I can--that I must. Yes, I am willing to go away, Glory, and when you are ready I shall be ready too.” “But where--where--?” “I don't know yet; but I am willing to wait for the unrolling of the scroll. I am willing to follow step by step, not knowing whither. I am willing to go where God wills, for life or death.” “But your work in London--your great, great work----” “God will see to that, Glory. He can do without any of us. None of us can do without him. The sun will set without any assistance, you know,” and the pale face made an effort to smile.