"Yes," he said mournfully. "It's quite likely she'll refuse to go quietly. We may have to invent a rich relative who dies and leaves her with a competency." "A little courage would be cheaper." "But that's what we haven't got." "You begin to make me wonder if your compliments are more than sops." "Compliments in their relation to you are barred as topics of conversation. Good-bye. Oh, I was to ask you if you would like any salary in advance." "No, thank you. I'm a thrifty soul. I must have quite ten shillings." "But, I say, Theresa----" "My good man, you've no idea how long ten shillings can be made to last. I can assure you that my stockings are no rivals to your socks, and I don't have a new tie every week. I'm not going to have any money I haven't earned." "Bless the child! It will be quite a month, you know, before we get rid of the Gorgon." "I don't mind. I want a rest. I'm tired, Jack." He drew a step nearer, and looked kindly down at her. "Theresa, I'm rather worried about you. Have you some disease lurking?" "No; but I've been in such a hurry all my life, and done so little. I have a weary spirit. I wish I could go riding on the clouds for a week of these March winds. I should look down and see the earth so small, and people of my size not visible at all, and the heavens so infinite." "But if you know all that----" "Knowing is not enough," she said. "That's one of the easy things, I find. It's feeling I have to cultivate." He nodded curtly. "You're quite right. I do believe you're growing up. Good-bye, my dear." The weariness she confessed to was in her face, the taste of humiliation was in her mouth, but hope was in her heart, like a low sound of singing. She would not listen to it frankly, but it murmured there like the noise of constant water, hardly acknowledged, yet filling life with meaning. It sang through her dreams at night and mingled with the talking of the dark lake's water, for she was restored to her place under the mountain, and now, while she waited, she had no doubt of whose footfall she expected, whose hand she wished to grasp, and, when the morning came, flashing truth on her receptive mind, she had to own her need of Alexander. But, indeed, she was glad to own it. She had gone past a state in which pride could be greater than her love and, as if to make amends for her disloyalty, she acclaimed him. It was not love she tried to disavow, but hope, and even there she failed.