"To tell you the truth, I rather did. Not that I should have dreamed of his corresponding with me had he spoken to me on a certain subject. But as, on that subject, he never opened his mouth to me, I almost thought he would write."
"Do you mean about money?" she asked in a very low voice.
"Well;—yes; I do mean about money. Things hitherto have gone so very strangely between us. Sit down, dear, till we have a real domestic talk."
"Tell me everything," she said, as she nestled herself close to his side.
"You know how it was at first between him and me. He objected to me violently,—I mean openly, to my face. But he based his objection solely on my nationality,—nationality and blood. As to my condition in the world, fortune, or income, he never asked a word. That was strange."
"I suppose he thought he knew."
"He could not have thought he knew, dearest. But it was not for me to force the subject upon him. You can see that."
"I am sure whatever you did was right, Ferdinand."
"He is indisputably a rich man,—one who might be supposed to be able and willing to give an only daughter a considerable fortune. Now I certainly had never thought of marrying for money." Here she rubbed her face upon his arm. "I felt that it was not for me to speak of money. If he chose to be reticent, I could be so equally. Had he asked me, I should have told him that I had no fortune, but was making a large though precarious income. It would then be for him to declare what he intended to do. That would, I think, have been preferable. As it is we are all in doubt. In my position a knowledge of what your father intends to do would be most valuable to me."
"Should you not ask him?"