But at last, one afternoon in February, she chanced to meet Thurston on the sea beach.  After greeting him, she candidly opened the subject.  She spoke gently and delicately, but firmly and plainly—­more so, perhaps, than another woman in the same position would have done, for Marian was eminently frank and fearless, especially where conscience was concerned.

And Thurston met her arguments with a graceful nonchalance, as seemingly polite and good-humored as it was really ironical and insulting.

Marian gave him time—­she was patient as firm—­and firm as sorrowful.  And until every argument and persuasion had failed, she said: 

“As a last resort, it may be necessary for me to warn Miss Le Roy—­not for my own sake.  Were I alone involved, you know how much I would endure rather than grieve you.  But this young lady must not suffer wrong.”

“You will write her an anonymous letter, possibly?”

“No—­I never take an indirect road to an object.”

“What, then, can you do, fair saint?”

“See Miss Le Roy, personally.”

“Ha! ha! ha!  What apology could you possibly make for such an unwarrantable interference?”

“The Lord knoweth!  I do not now.  But I trust to be able to save her without—­revealing you.”

“Do you imagine that vague warnings would have any effect upon her?”

“Coming from me they would.”

“Heavens!  What a self-worshiper!  But selfishness is your normal state, Marian!  Self-love is your only affection—­self-adulation your only enthusiasm—­self-worship your only religion!  You do not desire to be loved—­you wish only to be honored!  The love I offered you, you trampled underfoot!  You have no heart, you have only a brain!  You cannot love, you only think!  Nor have you any need of love, but only of power!  Applause is your vital breath, your native air!  To hear your name and praise on every tongue—­that is your highest ambition!  Such a woman should be a gorgon of ugliness that men might not waste their hearts’ wealth upon her!” exclaimed Thurston, bitterly, gazing with murky eyes, that smoldered with suppressed passion, upon the beautiful girl before him.

Marian was standing with her eyes fixed abstractedly upon a distant sail.  Now the tears swelled under the large white eyelids and hung glittering on the level lashes, and her lip quivered and her voice faltered slightly as she answered: 

“You see me through a false medium, dear Thurston, but the time will come when you will know me as I am.”

“I fancy the time has come.  It has also come for me to enlighten you a little.  And in the first place, fair queen of minds, if not of hearts, let me assure you that there is a limit even to your almost universal influence.  And that limit may be found in Miss Le Roy.  You, who know the power of thought only, cannot weigh nor measure the power of love.  Upon Miss Le Roy your warnings would have no effect whatever.  I tell you that in the face of them (were I so disposed), I might lead that girl to the altar to-morrow.”