But the man shook his head, saying:
"Lady Margaret won't think of that. She'll think only of you--that she can mother you, perhaps save you grief--and of herself, that in her old age she has a daughter. It would make a lonely old woman very happy, Mademoiselle."
The girl bent her head away from him, and Ste. Marie saw, for the first time since he had known her, tears in her eyes. After a long time she said:
"I promise, then. But," she said, "it is very unlikely that it should ever come about--for more than one reason. Very unlikely."
"Still, Mademoiselle," said he, "I am glad you have promised. This is an uncertain world. One never can tell what will come with the to-morrows."
"I can," the girl said, with a little tired smile that Ste. Marie did not understand. "I can tell. I can see all the to-morrows--a long, long row of them. I know just what they're going to be like--to the very end."
But the man rose to his feet and looked down upon her as she sat before him. And he shook his head.
"You are mistaken," he said. "Pardon me, but you are mistaken. No one can see to-morrow--or the end of anything. The end may surprise you very much."
"I wish it would!" cried Mlle. O'Hara. "Oh, I wish it would!"