“Forgive me, Miss Despard, if I seem to go against you--my heart is all with you; but you ought to be independent,” he said. “Either the woman would be sacrificed or the man would be sacrificed. And that kind of sacrifice is bad for everybody. Don’t be angry with me. Sacrifices generally are bad; the more you do for others, the more selfish they become. Have you not seen that even in your little experience? There are many people who never have it in their power to be independent; but those who have should not neglect it--even if it is not in a pleasant way.” “Even if it is by--being a singer?” She lifted her head again, and once more fixed upon him eyes which were full of unshed tears. Taking counsel had never been in Lottie’s way; but neither had doubt ever been in her way till now. Everything before had been very plain. Right and wrong--two broad lines straight before her; now there was right and wrong on both sides, and her landmarks were removed. She looked at her adviser as women look, to see not only what he said, but whatsoever shade of unexpressed opinion might cross his face. “It is not so dreadful after all,” he said. “It is better than many other ways. I am afraid life is hard, as you say, upon a girl, Miss Despard. She must be content with little things. This is one of the few ways in which she can really get independence--and--stop, hear me out--the power to help others too.” Lottie had almost begun a passionate remonstrance; but these last words stopped her. Though she might not like the way, still was it possible that this might be a way of setting everything right? She stopped gazing at her counsellor, her eyelids puckered with anxiety, her face quite colourless, and expressing nothing but this question. Not a pleasant way--a way of martyrdom to her pride--involving humiliation, every pang she could think of; but still, perhaps, a way of setting everything right. CHAPTER XXIV. A CRISIS.