"Well, if you were to think it, it would probably be because I've been through so much—I'm going through so much—that that sort of thing has become secondary."
"I didn't know that—that sort of thing—was ever secondary."
"Because you've never had the experience. If you had—"
The freedom of speech she seemed to be according him led him on to say:
"I've had experience enough—as you may know—to be sure it wouldn't be secondary with me."
She seemed willing to discuss the point. "When I say secondary I mean that I'm in a position in which I find it isn't the most important thing in the world to me to marry the man I—I care for."
"Then, what is the most important thing?"
She stirred impatiently. "Oh, it's no use going into that; I suppose it would be—to be free—not to owe you anything—or anybody anything—to be out of this big, useless house—away from these unpaid servants—and—and free! I'm not a dependent person. I dare say you've noticed that. I shouldn't mind having no money. I know a way by which I could support myself—and papa. I've thought that out. I shouldn't mind being alone in the world, either—if I could only burst the coil that's been wound about me."
"But since you can't," he said, rather cruelly, "wouldn't the next best thing be—to marry the man you care for?"
Her response was to say, irrelevantly, somewhat quaveringly, in a voice as near to tears as he could fancy her coming: "I wish I hadn't fallen out with Aunt Vic."