"We will never grow old, my dear," said Sara. "That is what the fairies are for: to keep those who love them young."
Hetty had relaxed. Her soft young body was warm again; that ineffably feminine charm was revived in her.
"Poor Leslie," murmured Sara, a long time afterward, a dreamy note in her voice. "I can't put him out of my thoughts. He will never get over it. I have never seen one so stricken and yet so brave. He would have been more than a husband to you, Hetty. It is in him to be a slave to the woman he loves. I know him well, poor boy."
Hetty was silent, brooding. Sara resumed her thoughtful observations.
"Why should you let what happened months ago stand in the way of—"
She got no farther than that. With an exclamation of horror, the girl sprang away from her and glowered at her with dilated eyes.
"My God, Sara!" she whispered hoarsely. "Are you mad?"
The other sighed. "I suppose you must think it of me," she said dismally. "We are made differently, you and I. If I cared for a man, nothing in all this world could stand between me and him. My love would fortify me against the enemy we are prone to call conscience. It would justify me in slaying the thing we call conscience. In your heart, Hetty, you have not wronged Leslie Wrandall by any act of yours. You owe him no reparation. On the contrary, it is not far out of the way to say that he owes you something, but of course it is a claim for recompense and resolves itself into a sentimental debt, so there's really no use discussing it."
Hetty was still staring. "You don't mean to say you would have me marry Challis Wrandall's brother?" she said, in a sort of stupefaction.
Sara shook her head. "I mean this: you would be justified in permitting Leslie to glorify that which his brother desecrated; your womanhood, my dear."