"Do you think he quite realized what he was doing?" Mrs. Mourraille asked presently.
"I don't know," said Stephanie indifferently. "Moreover, it doesn't matter. It finished me with him utterly. I wouldn't go back to him now if he got down on his knees on the spot, and before all of them implored it. I thought I despised him before; now I'm sure of it—and I hate and loath him beside."
She got up, and crossing to her mother sank down on the floor beside her and took her hands.
"Dearest," she said, "It will all come right some time. I'm glad to be free of Harry Lorraine, though I'm sorry I did what I did with Amherst, for your sake—and a little for my own now. But it is done and it cannot be undone; and we're not given, either of us, to crying over milk that's spilt. Let us be glad rather that I'm quit of Amherst without a—drag.... It wasn't by any fault of his that I am, however. I don't want you to be made to suffer for my folly. I know you can't escape feeling it, but you must not make my quarrel yours. Let me fight it out alone. I'll go away—take an apartment of my own, where I won't weigh you down by my presence, and make your friends shy of you and your house. I'll——"
"My dear little girl, you'll do nothing of the sort," Mrs. Mourraille broke in, kissing the auburn head. "The milk is spilt, as you say—so let us forget it. You don't want Lorraine, so we'll not consider him. We'll consider you, and the future."
"And you!" whispered Stephanie.
"We won't consider me—except indirectly. Whatever is best for you, dear, is best for me. We will fight this out together."
"You sweet mother!" said Stephanie, drawing the dark head down beside her own. "You shall be in reserve; I'll be on the firing line—and I won't let them get through to you."
Her mother smiled in tender clemency.