I have my
father's blood in me. All his nights and days he has spent in gaining
wealth; he can do no more. We upstarts have our pride of race. He has
done his share, I must do mine."

"But you need not be mere Mrs. anybody commonplace," I argued. "Why not
wait? You will meet someone who can give you position and whom at the
same time you can love. Would that not be better?"

"He will never come, the man I could love," she answered. "Because,
my little Paul, he has come already. Hush, Paul, the queen can do no
wrong."

"Who is he?" I asked. "May I not know?"

"Yes, Paul," she answered, "you shall know; I want you to know, then you
shall tell me that I have acted rightly. Do you hear me, Paul?--quite
rightly--that you still respect me and honour me. He could not help me.
As his wife, I should be less even than I am, a mere rich nobody, giving
long dinner-parties to other rich nobodies, living amongst City men,
retired trades-people; envied only by their fat, vulgarly dressed wives,
courted by seedy Bohemians for the sake of my cook; with perhaps an
opera singer or an impecunious nobleman or two out of Dad's City list
for my show-guests. Is that the court, Paul, where you would have your
queen reign?"

"Is he so commonplace a man," I answered, "the man you love? I cannot
believe it."

"He is not commonplace," she answered. "It is I who am commonplace. The
things I desire, they are beneath him; he will never trouble himself to
secure them."

"Not even for love of you?"

"I would not have him do so even were he willing. He is great, with a
greatness I cannot even understand. He is not the man for these times.
In old days, I should have married him, knowing he would climb to
greatness by sheer strength of manhood. But now men do not climb; they
crawl to greatness. He could not do that. I have done right, Paul."

"What does he say?" I asked.

"Shall I tell you?" She laughed a little bitterly. "I can give you his
exact words, 'You are half a woman and half a fool, so woman-like you
will follow your folly. But let your folly see to it that your woman
makes no fool of herself.'"

The words were what I could imagine his saying. I heard the strong ring
of his voice through her mocking mimicry.

"Hal!" I cried. "It is he."

"So you never guessed even that, Paul. I thought at times it would be
sweet to cry it out aloud, that it could have made no difference, that
everyone who knew me must have read it in my eyes."