"Come here, my dear," she said.
Strelsa went, slowly; and Mrs. Sprowl enveloped her like a fleshy squid, panting.
"I only wanted to be good to you, Strelsa. I'm just an old fool I suppose——"
"Oh, please don't——"
"That's all I am, child, just a sentimental old fool. The poor man's adoration of you touched my heart—and you do like him a little, don't you?"
"Very much.... Thank you for—for wishing happiness to me. I really don't mean to be ungrateful; I have a horror of ingratitude. It's only that—the idea never occurred to me; and I am incapable of doing such a thing for material reasons, unless—I also really cared for a man——"
"Of course, child. Maybe you will care for him some day. I won't interfere any more.... Only—don't lose your heart to any of these young jackals fawning around your skirts. Every set is full of 'em. They're nothing but the capering chorus in this comic opera.... And—don't be angry—but I am an older and wiser woman than you, and I am fond of you, and it's my duty to tell you that any of the lesser breed—take young Quarren for example—are of no real account, even in the society which they amuse."
"I would scarcely class Mr. Quarren with the sort you mention——"
"Why not? He's of no importance."
"Because he is kind, considerate, and unusually intelligent and interesting; and he is very capable of succeeding in whatever he undertakes," said Strelsa, slowly.