very frequent, and were always administered in a judicial kind of way) bore with them a certain stamp of brilliance; she possessed a very pathetic capacity for snobbishness.  Frank, on the other side, was no less exciting.  She regarded him as a good young man, almost romantic, indeed, in his goodness—­a kind of Sir Galahad; and he, whatever his motive (and she was sometimes terribly puzzled about his motives), at any rate, stood in a sort of rivalry to the Major; and it was she who was the cause of contention.  She loved to feel herself pulled this way and that by two such figures, to be quarreled over by such very strong and opposite types.  It was a vague sensation to her, but very vivid and attractive; and although just now she believed herself to be thoroughly miserable, I have no doubt whatever that she was enjoying it all immensely.  She was very feminine indeed, and the little scene of last night had brought matters to an almost exquisite point.  She was crying a little now, gently, to herself.

* * * * *

The door opened.  Frank came in, put down his cap, and took his seat on the bench by the fire.

“All out?” he asked.

Gertie nodded, and made a little broken sound.

“Very good,” said Frank.  “Then I’m going to talk to you.”

Gertie wiped away a few more tears, and settled herself down for a little morbid pleasure.  It was delightful to her to be found crying over the fire.  Frank, at any rate, would appreciate that.

“Now,” said Frank, “you’ve got the choice once more, and I’m going to put it plainly.  If you don’t do what I want this time, I shall have to see whether somebody else can’t persuade you.”

She glanced up, a little startled.

“Look here,” said Frank.  “I’m not going to take any more trouble myself over this affair.  You were a good deal upset yesterday when the lady came round, and you’ll be more upset yet before the thing’s over.  I shan’t talk to you myself any more:  you don’t seem to care a hang what I say; in fact, I’m thinking of moving my lodgings after Christmas.  So now you’ve got your choice.”

He paused.

“On the one side you’ve got the Major; well, you know him; you know the way he treats you.  But that’s not the reason why I want you to leave him.  I want you to leave him because I think that down at the bottom you’ve got the makings of a good woman—­”

“I haven’t,” cried Gertie passionately.

“Well, I think you have.  You’re very patient, and you’re very industrious, and because you care for this man you’ll do simply anything in the world for him.  Well, that’s splendid.  That shows you’ve got grit.  But have you ever thought what it’ll all be like in five years from now?”

“I shall be dead,” wailed Gertie.  “I wish I was dead now.”

Frank paused.

“And when you’re dead—?” he said slowly.

There was an instant’s silence.  Then Frank took up his discourse again.  (So far he had done exactly what he had wanted.  He had dropped two tiny ideas on her heart once more—­hope and fear.)