"Because--because I care for her too much. And I can do absolutely nothing for her. I could not swerve her or direct her. She alone knows what is in her heart and mind to do. I cannot alter it. She will act according to her strength; none can do otherwise.... And she is tired to the very soul.... You tell me that life and youth in you died within a year's space. I believe it.... But with her it took two years to die. And then it died.... Let her alone, in God's name! The child is weary of pursuit, deathly weary of importunity--tired, sad, frightened at the disaster to her fortune. Let her alone. If she marries it will be because of physical strength lacking--strength of character, of mind--perhaps moral, perhaps spiritual strength--I don't know. All I know is that no man or woman can help her, because the world has bruised her too long and she's afraid of it." For a long while Mrs. Sprowl sat there in silence; then: "It is strange," she mused, "that Strelsa should be afraid of Sir Charles." "I don't think she is." "Then why on earth won't she marry him? He is richer than Langly!" Quarren looked at her oddly: "But Sir Charles is her friend, you see. And so am I.... Friends do not make a convenience of one another." "She could learn to love him. He is a lovable fellow." "I think," said Quarren, "that she has given to him and to me all that there is in her to give to any man. And so, perhaps, she could not make the convenience of a husband out of either of us." "What a twisted, ridiculous, morbid----" "Let her alone," he said gently. "Very well.... But I'll be hanged if I let Langly alone! He's still got me to deal with, thank God!--whatever he dares do to Mary Ledwith--whatever he has done to that wretched creature Chester Ledwith--he's still got a perfectly vigorous aunt to reckon with. And we'll see," she added--"we'll see what can be done----" The front door opened noisily. "That's Dankmere," he said. "If you are not going to be civil to him hadn't you better go?" "I'll be civil to him," she snorted, "but I'm going anyway. Good-bye, Ricky. I'll buy a picture of you when the weather's cooler.... How-de-do!"--as his lordship entered looking rather hot and mussy--"Hope your venture into the realms of art will prove successful, Lord Dankmere. Really, Rix, I must be going--if you'll call my man----" "I'll take you down," he said, smilingly offering his support. So Mrs. Sprowl rolled away in her motor, and Quarren came back, wearied with the perplexities and strain of life, to face once more the lesser problems of the immediate present: one of them was an ancient panel in the basement, and he went downstairs to solve it, leaving Dankmere sorting out old prints and Jessie Vining, who had just returned, writing business letters on her machine.