ming, and it spelt disaster
for her. But it was the real thing; and when the real thing comes, we
all have to knock under to it. It doesn't come often. Most of us are
quite incapable of it. I have only seen it once or twice. I dare say I
have never felt it, though I should have liked to take care of Lenore,
and not let her work so hard, and make a garden for her. She loves
flowers and running water. I made the garden just on the chance, but she
has never seen it. Down in Sussex it is, with a little old-world cottage
in it. It is a pretty place. Pergola; small cascade with rustic bridge;
fishpond, with green-tiled floor to show up the gold-fish. And a rose
garden. I should have liked her to see it. But she and Delacour! It was
like a thing in a book. They fell in love, and he behaved well. He
wouldn't marry her. He said he knew he couldn't cure himself of
drink--that his will was too weak. But she was determined to marry him.
She said her will was strong enough for both of them. I don't know about
her will. I think it was her love which was strong enough. He gave in at
last and married her. I know I shouldn't have held out as long as he
did. And for a little while things went well. He was at her feet. He
told me it was the first time any woman had ever cared for him. For a
little while I almost hoped--and then, in spite of his love for her, in
spite of everything, he began to drink again. Then she told him that
what he drank she should drink, and she stuck to it. If he drank, she
drank the same. If he 'nipped,' she did the same. When he got drunk, she
got drunk. It was kill or cure. And he loved her. That was her hold over
him. It took time, but she broke him of it. He suffered too much seeing
her kill herself for his sake, and it steadied him. He _had_ to give it
up."

"Then, now--why doesn't she give it up, too?"

"She can't," said the manager, his face twitching. "She was too far gone
by the time he was cured. She had not his physique. She was absolutely
played out. She is dying, and they both know it. But she does not mind.
She has saved him. That was the point. She is perfectly happy. She does
not care about anything else. He is a great actor. She has lived to see
him recognised. Some women wouldn't have risked it. But I suppose a
woman will take any risk if she loves, at least, women like Lenore
will."

"And does he--in spite of this--does he love her still?" said Marion,
with dry lips.

The manager was silent