"What do you mean?" he said, turning a colourless face to hers. "What I say. Ricky dear, I suppose that Strelsa _will_ have to marry a wealthy man, now--and I believe she realises it, too--but I--I _wanted_ her to marry you, some day----" He swung around again, confronting her. "You darling!" he said under his breath. Mrs. Wycherly's lip trembled and she dabbed at her eyes. "I wish I could express my feelings like Mrs. Sprowl, but I can't," she said naïvely. "Sir Charles will marry her, now; I know perfectly well he will--unless Langly Sprowl----" Quarren drew his breath sharply. "Not that man," she said. "God knows, Ricky. He's after Strelsa every minute--and he can make himself agreeable. The worst of it is that Strelsa does not believe what she hears about him. Women are that way, often. The moment the whole world pitches into a man, women are inclined to believe him a martyr--and end by discrediting every unworthy story concerning him.... I don't know, but I think it is already a little that way with Strelsa.... He's a clever brute--and oh! what a remorseless man!... I said that once to Strelsa, and she said very warmly that I entirely misjudged him.... I wish Mary Ledwith would come back and bring things to a crisis--I do, indeed." Quarren said, calmly; "You don't think Mrs. Leeds is engaged to Sprowl, do you?" "No.... I don't think so. Sometimes I don't know what to think of Strelsa. I'm certain that she was not engaged to him four weeks ago when she was at Newport." Quarren gazed out into the sunlit street. It was just four weeks ago that her letters ceased. Had she stopped writing because of worry over the Adamant Trust? Or was there another reason? "I suppose," said Molly, dabbing at her eyes, "that Strelsa can't pick and choose now. I suppose she's got to marry for sordid and sensible and material reasons. But if only she would choose Sir Charles--I think I could be almost reconciled to her losing you----" Quarren laughed harshly. "An irreparable loss to any woman," he said. "I doubt that Mrs. Leeds survives losing me." "Ricky! She cares a great deal for you! So do I. And Strelsa _does_ care for you----" "Not too rashly I hope," he said with another disagreeable laugh. "Oh, that isn't like you, Ricky! You're not the sneering, fleering nasty kind. If you are badly hurt, take it better than that----" "I can't!" he said between set teeth. "I care for her; she knows it. I guess she knows, too, that what she once said to me started me into what I'm doing now--working, waiting, living like a dog--doing my best to keep my self-respect and obtain hers--" He choked, regained his self-control, and went on quietly: "Why do you think I dropped out of everything? To try to develop whatever may be in me--so that I could speak to her as an equal and not as the court jester and favourite mountebank of the degenerate gang she travels with----" "Ricky!" "I beg your pardon," he said sullenly.