able lives. Because I've set my heart on staying with the
Tanquerays, and Fred Tanqueray will be there. Because"--a queer,
fierce light came into her eyes--"because I'm happy, and he means to
spoil it all, as he spoilt it all before! As if I hadn't suffered
enough."

"You? What have you suffered?" Kate's sharp face was red as she
bent over a dropped stitch. Her hands trembled. "You were too young
to feel anything."

"I wasn't too young to feel that I had a career before me, nor to
care when it was knocked on the head. If it hadn't been for him my
music wouldn't have come to an end as it did."

"Your music! If it hadn't been for him my engagement wouldn't have
been broken off--as it was."

"Oh _that_? It was the one solitary good day's work Stephen ever
did."

The old lady nodded shrewdly over her needles. "Yes, my dear, you
might be thankful for that mercy. You couldn't have married Mr.
Hooper. I'm afraid he wasn't altogether what he ought to be. You
yourself suspected that he drank."

"Like a fish," interposed Minnie.

"I know"--Kate's hands were fumbling violently over her
stitch--"but--but I could have reclaimed him."

Her eyes lost their meanness with the little momentary light of
illusion.

Minnie laughed aloud. "If that's all you wanted, why didn't you try
your hand on Stephen?"

"Don't, Minnie."

But Minnie did. "Fred Tanqueray doesn't drink; I wouldn't look at
him if he did. What's more, he's a gentleman; I couldn't stand him
if he wasn't. Catch him marrying into this family when he's seen
Stephen."

"Minnie, you are _too_ dreadful."

"Dreadful? You'd be dreadful if you'd cared as much for Charlie
Hooper as I do for Fred Tanqueray."

"And how much does Mr. Tanqueray care for you?"

A dull flush spread over Minnie's sallow face; her lips coarsened.
"I don't know; but it's a good deal more than your Hooper man ever
cared for anybody in his life; and if you weren't such a hopeless
sentimentalist you'd have seen that much. Of course I shan't know
whether he cares or not--now."

And she wept, because of the anguish of her thirty years.

Then she burst out: "I _hate_ Stephen. I don't care what you say--if
he comes into this house I'll walk out of it. Oh, how I hate him!"
Her loose mouth dropped, still quivering with its speech. Her face
was one flame with her hair.

But Kate was cool and collected.

"Don't excite yourself. If it's only to influence Fred Tanqueray, he
won't come," said Kate