I was rather startled at this suggestion, which somehow hinted disregard for the unconscious Henry.

‘I think I must lack charm,’ went on Marion in a choked voice.  ’Who was it described charm as a—­a—­sort of a bloom on a woman, and said if she had that she didn’t need anything else?’

‘It was Barrie,’ I said, stroking her hair, ’but don’t take any notice of him, dear.’

’It’s just what a man would say.  Oh, Netta, why is life so hard to a woman?  Why must she always be the one to stifle her feelings, repress her natural instincts, wait for man to take the lead?  Why can’t she be the leading spirit if she wishes, without being humiliated?  Why shouldn’t women propose?’

‘That’s just what I’ve been writing about,’ I said involuntarily.

She raised her head from my shoulder.  ‘And what did you say about it?’

’I held that a woman can—­er—­oh, hang it all, never mind what I wrote about it.  What I say is that of course they ought to propose if they want to.  There should be perfect equality of the sexes.’

‘Well, if there was,’ put in Marion, her practical common sense coming to her aid, ’it wouldn’t after all make a man want to marry me just because it was I who put the question.  It’s no use, Netta.  I’m a born old maid.  I’ve got to go through life heart-hungry, loving other people’s babies instead of my own, and stepping aside to let all the fair things go past me.’

Poor little Marion!  She looked very wistful and pathetic at that moment.  A lump rose in my throat as I strove to dry her eyes and find words of comfort.

She sobbed on unrestrainedly, however, and nothing I could say would soothe her.  ‘Marion, darling,’ I whispered, my own eyes growing moist, ’don’t cry any more.  Isn’t there anything I can say to cheer you up?  Can’t I suggest anything——?’

The door opened and Elizabeth entered.  She carried a tray in her hand on which were a bottle of stout and a glass.

‘I thort so,’ she said, setting down the tray and looking at Marion’s drooping form.  ’Ah, these men—­’ounds, I call ’em.  I came in to ’ave a word with Miss Marryun and cheer ’er up, like.  I bin through it myself, so I knows.’

She approached Marion and laid a damp red hand on her shoulder.  ’I bin lookin’ at the cards for you, miss, an’ I see a loverly future,’ she began in a coaxing voice.  ‘I see a tall dark man crossin’ water for you, with a present in ’is right ‘and.’

Marion, who was not without a sense of humour, smiled rather wanly.  Encouraged, Elizabeth continued:  ‘Wot’s the use o’ spoilin’ your pretty eyes cryin’ for the moon—­by which I mean Mr.  ’Arbinger—­when ’e isn’t your Fate?  Why, bless you, I was once goin’ to marry a plumber’s mate, and jest a week afore the weddin ‘e went orf with some one else an’ owin’ me arf-a-crown, too.  I was cut up at the time, but I know now ’e wasn’t my Fate, ‘avin been told