"Yes; a profession—a false profession, Mr Gresham,—a false profession—a false profession. Look into your heart—into your heart of hearts. I know you at any rate have a heart; look into it closely. Mr Gresham, you know you do not love me; not as a man should love the woman whom he swears to love."
Frank was taken aback. So appealed to he found that he could not any longer say that he did love her. He could only look into her face with all his eyes, and sit there listening to her.
"How is it possible that you should love me? I am Heaven knows how many years your senior. I am neither young nor beautiful, nor have I been brought up as she should be whom you in time will really love and make your wife. I have nothing that should make you love me; but—but I am rich."
"It is not that," said Frank, stoutly, feeling himself imperatively called upon to utter something in his own defence.
"Ah, Mr Gresham, I fear it is that. For what other reason can you have laid your plans to talk in this way to such a woman as I am?"
"I have laid no plans," said Frank, now getting his hand to himself. "At any rate, you wrong me there, Miss Dunstable."
"I like you so well—nay, love you, if a woman may talk of love in the way of friendship—that if money, money alone would make you happy, you should have it heaped on you. If you want it, Mr Gresham, you shall have it."
"I have never thought of your money," said Frank, surlily.
"But it grieves me," continued she, "it does grieve me, to think that you, you, you—so young, so gay, so bright—that you should have looked for it in this way. From others I have taken it just as the wind that whistles;" and now two big slow tears escaped from her eyes, and would have rolled down her rosy cheeks were it not that she brushed them off with the back of her hand.
"You have utterly mistaken me, Miss Dunstable," said Frank.