“Bah! you are high-flown,” said the mother. “If one took to heart all the things that men do, one would have no consolation in this world. They are all less or more, bêtes, the men. What we have to do is to ménager--to make of it the best we can. You do not expect them to understand--to be like _us?_ Tenez, Reine; that which your brother wants is a friend. No, not thee, my child, nor me. Do not cry, chérie. It is the lot of the woman. Thou hast not known whether thou wert girl or boy, or what difference there was, in the strange life you have led; but listen, my most dear, for now you find it out. Herbert is but like others; he is no worse than the rest. He accepts from thee everything, so long as he wants thee; but now he is independent, he wants thee no more. This is a truth which every woman learns. To struggle is inutile--it does no good, and a woman who is wise accepts what must be, and does not struggle. What he wants is a friend. Where is the cousin, the Monsieur Everard, whom I left with you, who went away suddenly? You have never told me why he went away.” Reine’s color rose. She grew red to the roots of her hair. It was a subject which had never been touched upon between them, and possibly it was the girl’s consciousness of something which she could not put into words which made the blood flush to her face. Madame de Mirfleur had been very discreet on this subject, as she always was. She had never done anything to awaken her child’s susceptibilities. And she was not ignorant of Everard’s story, which Julie had entered upon in much greater detail than would have been possible to Reine. Honestly, she thought no more of Everard so far as Reine was concerned; but, for Herbert, he would be invaluable; therefore, it was with no match-making meaning that she awaited her daughter’s reply. “I told you when it happened,” said Reine, in very measured tones, and with unnecessary dignity; “you have forgotten, mamma. His affairs got into disorder; he thought he had lost all his money; and he was obliged to go at a moment’s notice to save himself from being ruined.” “Ah!” said Madame de Mirfleur, “I begin to recollect. Après? He was not ruined, but he did not come back?” “He did not come back because he had to go to Jamaica--to the West Indies,” said Reine, somewhat indignant, “to work hard. It is not long since he has been back in England. I had a letter--to say he thought--of coming--” Here she stopped short, and looked at her mother with a certain defiance. She had not meant to say anything of this letter, but in Everard’s defence had betrayed its existence before she knew. “Ah!” said Madame de Mirfleur, wisely showing little eagerness, “such an one as Everard would be a good companion for thy brother. He is a man, voyez-vous, not a boy. He thought--of coming?” “Somewhere--for the Winter,” said Reine, with a certain oracular vagueness, and a tremor in her voice.