"He says the chances are that he won't hold out much longer; his health must have broken up after all these years. I don't know how I _can_ stand it, if it is. When I think of all the things that may happen. Paralysis perhaps, or epilepsy--that's far more likely. He's just the age." "Is he? How awful! But, then, he'll have to go somewhere. You know we can't have him epilepsing all over the place here." The old lady dropped her knitting to raise her hands. "Minnie! Minnie! Have a little Trust. He may never come at all." "He will. Trust _him_." "After all," said Kate reflectively, "why should he?" "Why? Why?" The girl came forward, spreading her large red hands before her. "Because we've paid all his debts. Because we've saved money and got straight again. Because we're getting to know one or two decent people, and it's taken us fifteen years to do it. Because we're beginning to enjoy ourselves for the first time in all our miserable lives. Because I've set my heart on staying with the Tanquerays, and Fred Tanqueray will be there. Because"--a queer, fierce light came into her eyes--"because I'm happy, and he means to spoil it all, as he spoilt it all before! As if I hadn't suffered enough." "You? What have you suffered?" Kate's sharp face was red as she bent over a dropped stitch. Her hands trembled. "You were too young to feel anything." "I wasn't too young to feel that I had a career before me, nor to care when it was knocked on the head. If it hadn't been for him my music wouldn't have come to an end as it did." "Your music! If it hadn't been for him my engagement wouldn't have been broken off--as it was." "Oh _that_? It was the one solitary good day's work Stephen ever did." The old lady nodded shrewdly over her needles. "Yes, my dear, you might be thankful for that mercy. You couldn't have married Mr. Hooper. I'm afraid he wasn't altogether what he ought to be. You yourself suspected that he drank." "Like a fish," interposed Minnie. "I know"--Kate's hands were fumbling violently over her stitch--"but--but I could have reclaimed him." Her eyes lost their meanness with the little momentary light of illusion. Minnie laughed aloud. "If that's all you wanted, why didn't you try your hand on Stephen?" "Don't, Minnie." But Minnie did. "Fred Tanqueray doesn't drink; I wouldn't look at him if he did. What's more, he's a gentleman; I couldn't stand him if he wasn't. Catch him marrying into this family when he's seen Stephen." "Minnie, you are _too_ dreadful." "Dreadful? You'd be dreadful if you'd cared as much for Charlie Hooper as I do for Fred Tanqueray." "And how much does Mr. Tanqueray care for you?" A dull flush spread over Minnie's sallow face; her lips coarsened. "I don't know; but it's a good deal more than your Hooper man ever cared for anybody in his life; and if you weren't such a hopeless sentimentalist you'd have seen that much. Of course I shan't know whether he cares or not--now."