"Yes, yes, of course," faltered Gertrude. "And I know that you do not love George Harrington." A pause. "And George Harrington does not love you." "He told me he did--very dearly, Mrs Hampton, and if--if--I do not love him as I ought to do, I shall try so very, very hard to make him a true and loving wife." "Trying is no use, my dear. Love comes and goes of itself. You may make yourself friends with any one, but you cannot make yourself love." "Not when he loves me?" cried Gertrude. "So much, my child, that only a short time before he is married to you, he goes and plays the swine." "Mrs Hampton!" cried Gertrude indignantly. "Very well, then, my dear, I will not speak like that. It is too blunt and strong. He goes then--after promising everybody, and in disobedience to Doctor Lawrence's orders, and quite soon after a dangerous attack of _delirium tremens_, brought on by drink--and takes that which has compelled him to keep his bed this morning." "But he may be ill, Mrs Hampton." "He is ill, my dear, and with an illness which brings on a craving he cannot control." "Oh?" sighed Gertrude, covering her face with her hands. "He madly goes and makes himself the slave of a terrible master, who will ruin health, and pocket--destroy him utterly." "You are too severe, Mrs Hampton," faltered Gertrude. "Not a bit, my dear." "He said he would not take more than Mr Hampton might, or you." "That will not do, my dear," said the old lady calmly. "My husband treats wine and spirits as his slaves, and makes them obey him. I do the same. George Harrington sets what the teetotallers call the great God Alcohol up on a pedestal, and grovels before it in his insane worship." "But he is growing so much better, Mrs Hampton." "No, my dear. He is only professing to do so. He is the slave and he will go lower and lower. I say then, even with the great wealth he has inherited, is this man the suitable partner of your future?" "I want to defend him," sighed Gertrude to herself, "but she masters me--she masters me." "Then listen to me, my dear, before it is too late. Do one of two things--come to us, where you shall be as our child, or, if you prefer it, set up a little simple home of your own, with poor old Denton, who would gladly accept this plan; you will not be well off, but you will be happy--yes, I say happy," cried the old lady, looking up defiantly at the portrait, which had caught her eye, and seemed to be gazing searchingly at her. "Ah, you may look, but you are only canvas and paint; and if you were alive you would not throw this poor child into the arms of a drunken man." "Mrs Hampton, what are you saying?" cried Gertrude, looking up and shivering, as she realised that the old lady was addressing the picture on the wall. "The plain, honest, simple truth, my dear. Come, come, be advised by me." "No, no; it is impossible," murmured Gertrude. "Not a bit of it, my child. Think of your future. He will not reform."