The outrageous question silenced the girl for a moment. Angry, she still tried to be gentle; tried to remember the age, and the excellent intentions of this excited old lady; and she answered in a low voice: "I care for no man in particular, unless it be Sir Charles--and----" "And who?" "Mr. Quarren, I think," she said. Mrs. Sprowl's jowl grew purple with fury: "You--has that boy had the impudence--damn him----" Strelsa sprang to her feet. "I really cannot remain--" she said with decision, but the old lady only bawled: "Sit down! Sit down!" "I will not!" "Sit _down_!" she roared in a passion. "What the devil----" Strelsa, a little pale, started to pass her--then halted, astounded: for the old lady had burst into a passion of choking gasps. Whether the terrible sounds she made were due to impotent rage or asthma, Strelsa, confused, shocked, embarrassed, but still angry, had no notion; and while Mrs. Sprowl coughed fatly, she stood still, catching muffled fragments of reproaches directed at people who flouted friendship; who had no consideration for age, and no gratitude, no tenderness, no pity. "I--I _am_ grateful," faltered Strelsa, "only I cannot----" "I wanted to be a mother to you! I've tried to be," wheezed the old lady in a fresh paroxysm; and beat the air. For one swift instant the girl remembered what her real mother had been to her; and her heart hardened. "I care only for your friendship, Mrs. Sprowl; I do not wish you to do anything for me; can we not be friends on that basis?" Mrs. Sprowl swabbed her inflamed eyes and peered around the corner of the handkerchief. "Come here, my dear," she said. Strelsa went, slowly; and Mrs. Sprowl enveloped her like a fleshy squid, panting. "I only wanted to be good to you, Strelsa. I'm just an old fool I suppose----" "Oh, please don't----" "That's all I am, child, just a sentimental old fool. The poor man's adoration of you touched my heart--and you do like him a little, don't you?" "Very much.... Thank you for--for wishing happiness to me. I really don't mean to be ungrateful; I have a horror of ingratitude. It's only that--the idea never occurred to me; and I am incapable of doing such a thing for material reasons, unless--I also really cared for a man----" "Of course, child. Maybe you will care for him some day. I won't interfere any more.... Only--don't lose your heart to any of these young jackals fawning around your skirts. Every set is full of 'em. They're nothing but the capering chorus in this comic opera.... And--don't be angry--but I am an older and wiser woman than you, and I am fond of you, and it's my duty to tell you that any of the lesser breed--take young Quarren for example--are of no real account, even in the society which they amuse." "I would scarcely class Mr. Quarren with the sort you mention----" "Why not? He's of no importance."