"'Nay, mother,' interrupted Loftus, 'there's a chance for me, she has consented to see me again to-morrow.' "I flew up to mother when Loftus had done speaking, and I knelt by her and looked into her face and said, 'You make my heart beat so hard, I never, never thought of this.' Mother went on moaning to herself. She did not seem to care about me nor to notice that I was with her. "'It was my last hope,' she said; 'the only chance to avert the trouble, and it is over.' "She went on saying that until I really thought she was almost light-headed. At last Loftus beckoned me out of the room. "'What is it, Loftus, what is wrong?" I asked. "'Poor mother,' he replied; 'she loves Beatrice, and she had set her heart on this. Her nerves are a good deal shaken lately. Poor mother! she has had a more troubled life than you can guess about, Catherine.' "'Loftie,' I answered, 'I have long guessed, I have long feared.' "'If I could win Beatrice,' said Loftus, 'my mother should never have another ache nor pain.' "Then he went back into mother's room, and I stayed outside and thought. After a time I resolved to come to you. No one knows that I am here." "What have you come for, Catherine?" asked Beatrice. "I have come to know what you mean to do. When you see Loftus to-morrow what will you say to him?" "What would you say, Catherine? If you did not love a man at all, if he was absolutely nothing to you, would you give yourself to him? Yourself? That means all your life, all your days, your young days, your middle-aged years, your old age, always, till death parts you. Would you do that, Catherine? Speak for yourself; would you?" "How old are you, Beatrice?" asked Catherine. "I am nineteen; never mind my age, that has nothing whatever to say to the question I want you to answer." "I asked you about your age on purpose--because I can't answer your question. You are nineteen, I am seventeen. I feel like a child still; I don't understand anything about loving people as you talk of love; but I could be kind, and if it lay in my power to keep hearts from breaking I think I'd be very glad to do it, and then Loftie _is_ nice, Bee." Beatrice sighed. For the first time there was a gulf between her and Catherine. As an intelligent and intellectual companion, as an affectionate friend, Catherine was perfect; but in matters pertaining to love--that great mystery which comes into most lives--her unawakened heart was as a blank. "You ask a great deal," said Beatrice, rising to her feet with irritation. "For some reason, I don't know what, I am of value to you and yours. I am not in your rank of life, still you want me. Your mother is troubled, and in some inexplicable way I, an ignorant and uninformed country girl, can relieve her. This is all very fine for you, but what about me? I sacrifice myself forever to give temporary relief. Catherine, you must tell me the truth. Why do you want me? Is it because of my money?"