'No,' mused Victoria as she walked, 'like most women, she cannot rule: a
man must rule her. She is a reed, not an oak. All must come from man,
both good and evil. What man has done man must undo.'

By the time she returned to Elm Tree Place she had made up her mind.
There was no hope for Betty except in marriage. She must have her own
fireside; and, from what she had said, her lover was no villain. He was
weak, probably; and, while he strove to determine his line of conduct,
events had slipped beyond his control. Perhaps, though, it was not fair
to deliver Betty into his hands bound and defenceless, bearing the
burden of their common imprudence. She was not fit to be free, but she
should not be a slave. It might be well to be the slave of the strong,
but not of the weak.

Therefore Victoria arrived at a definite solution. She would see the
young man; and, if it was not altogether out of the question, he should
marry Betty. They should have the little house at Shepherd's Bush, and
Betty should be made a free woman with a fortune of five hundred pounds
in her own right, enough to place her for ever beyond sheer want. It
only struck Victoria later that she need not, out of quixotic
generosity, deplete her own store, for Holt would gladly give whatever
sum she named.

'Now, Betty,' she said as the girl drained the glass of claret which
accompanied the piece of fowl, that composed her lunch, 'tell me your
young man's name and Anderson & Dromo's address. I'm going to see him.'

'Oh, no, no, don't do that.' The look of fear returned to the blue eyes.

'No use, Betty, I've decided you're going to be happy. I shall see him
to-day at six, bring him here to-morrow at half past two, as it happens
to be Saturday. You will be married about the thirtieth of this month.'

'Oh, Vic, don't make me think of it. I can't do it . . . it's no good
now. Perhaps he's forgotten me, and it's better for him.'

'I don't think he's forgotten you,' said Victoria. 'He'll marry you this
month, and you'll eat your Christmas dinner at Shepherd's Bush. Don't be
shy, dear--you're not going empty handed; you're going to have a dowry
of five hundred pounds.'

'Vic! I can't take it; it isn't right . . . you need all you've got
. . . you're so good, but I don't want him to marry me if . . . if. . . .'

'Oh, don't worry, I shan't tell him about the money until he says yes.
Now, no thanks; you're my baby, besides it's going to be a present from
Mr Holt.