"I supposed so," said she. "I'm not sure I'd take it if I could get it. Still, I suppose I would." She laughed. "What's the use of being a hypocrite with oneself? I know I would. All I could get." "Then you had no LEGAL excuse for leaving?" "No," said she. "I--just bolted. I don't know what's to become of me. I seem not to care, at present, but no doubt I shall as soon as we see land again." "You'll go back to him," said Stanley. "No," replied she, without emphasis or any accent whatever. "Sure you will," rejoined he. "It's your living. What else can you do?" "That's what I must find out. Surely there's something else for a woman besides such a married life as mine. I can't and won't go back to my husband. And I can't and won't go to the house at Hanging Rock. Those two things are settled." "You mean that?" "Absolutely. And I've got--less than three hundred and fifty dollars in the whole world." Baird was silent. He was roused from his abstraction by gradual consciousness of an ironical smile on the face of the girl, for she did not look like a married woman. "You are laughing at me. Why?" inquired he. "I was reading your thoughts." "You think you've frightened me?" "Naturally. Isn't a confession such as I made enough to frighten a man? It sounded as though I were getting ready to ask alms." "So it did," said he. "But I wasn't thinking of it in that way. You WILL be in a frightful fix pretty soon, won't you?" "It looks that way. But you need not be uneasy." "Oh, I want to help you. I'll do everything I can. I was trying to think of something you could make money at. I was thinking of the stage, but I suppose you'd balk at that. I'll admit it isn't the life for a lady. But the same thing's true of whatever money can be made at. If I were you, I'd go back." "If I were myself, I'd go back," said Mildred. "But I'm not myself." "You will be again, as soon as you face the situation." "No," said she slowly, "no, I shall never be myself again." "But you could have everything a woman wants. Except, of course--perhaps-- But you never struck me as being especially sentimental." "Sentiment has nothing to do with it," rejoined she. "Do you think I could get a place on the stage?" "Oh, you'd have to study a while, I suppose." "But I can't afford that. If I could afford to study, I'd have my voice trained." Baird's face lighted up with enthusiasm. "The very thing!" he cried. "You've got a voice, a grand-opera voice. I've heard lots of people say so, and it sounded that way to me. You must cultivate your voice." Mildred laughed. "Don't talk nonsense. Even I know that's nonsense. The lessons alone would cost thousands of dollars. And how could I live for the four or five years?"