"I think probably she will."
"Julian, I've been thinking about her. And it seems to me," said Edna, "that we must help her. God knows, I can judge no one, least of all to condemn, but I think that her weakness and recklessness are going to make life terribly, terribly hard for her. And I, for one, can't see her drift away like that without one effort to help."
The depth of Sir Julian's disapproval for the suggested scheme of philanthropy left him bereft of speech. Finally he observed:
"In my opinion, Edna, you have done rather too much already. Leave her alone."
"What do you mean? Julian, you carry your mania against officiousness too far. Indeed you do. What are we here for, unless it is to help one another?"
Sir Julian shrugged his shoulders.
"I knew the character of this woman before she ever came here—I couldn't help knowing it—I saw her trying to wreck Mark, as she nearly wrecked poor Clarence. I believe that I have saved Mark—and I thank God for it, very humbly, and very proudly. As for her, I hold no brief against her. I condemn no one, and I seek only to help her.... If she cares to turn to me now, all the love that I can give that poor, struggling, feeble soul is waiting for her."
"I don't think she will ask you for it, Edna."
Sir Julian thought of many things. For a moment he wondered whether he should say them aloud. Then the habit of apathy that had possessed him for a number of years asserted itself anew, and he did as he had almost always done—he left things alone.
The episode was past.