A woman of steel? There are no women of steel.
It was in Mrs. Cassilis's morning-room, an apartment sacred to herself; she used it for letter-writing, for interviews with dressmakers, for tea with ladies, for all sorts of things. And now she received her old friend in it. But why was she crying, and why did she not look up?
"I did want to see you, Lawrence," she murmured. "Can you not understand why?"
"My name is Colquhoun, Mrs. Cassilis. And I cannot understand why——"
"My name, Lawrence, is Victoria. Have you forgotten that?"
"I have forgotten everything, Mrs. Cassilis. It is best to forget everything."
"But if you cannot! O Lawrence!" she looked up in his face—"O Lawrence, if you cannot!"
Her weeping eyes, her tear-clouded face, her piteous gesture, moved the man not one whit. The power which she might once have had over him was gone.
"This is mere foolishness, Mrs. Cassilis. As a stranger, a perfect stranger, may I ask why you call me by my Christian name, and why these tears?"
"Strangers! it is ridiculous!" she cried, starting up and standing before him. "It is ridiculous, when all the world knows that we were once friends, and half the world thought that we were going to be something—nearer."