"Why not?" queries Erma, who has made up her mind that Lawrence must be aided in some way.
"Because your father, the first time he sees me, must think me a man who can fight his own battle in this world—a man worthy to be—" He checks himself, and drives the words that are on his tongue back into his throat.
"At all events," mutters Erma, "you must see my father. He is a man of great business sagacity. His advice will aid you. Promise that you will come to-morrow and see him."
"I go to Tintic to-morrow."
"Promise!" and, being desperate, the young lady now forgets herself and whispers, "for my sake."
Then she suddenly feels her soft hand crushed in a frontier grip as he answers:
"For your sake I'd promise anything!" and, a moment after, he raises the white patrician fingers and kisses them with that reverence and chivalry that good men, who have long lived apart from good women, oft-times feel for their sweethearts, likening them unto their mothers. Then he murmurs, "Good-bye!"
But the girl cries, "Don't forget to-morrow. I will tell papa to be in at eleven o'clock. He will advise you how to conquer that Tranyon. See! a rosebud for good luck," and smiles on him. "I will pin it in your button-hole."
"No," he stammers, "let me carry it in my hand. Good-bye!" almost snatching the flower from her, for he is desperately afraid of himself, for gratitude and love have made this young lady's beauty irresistible to him.
Hurrying from this interview, Lawrence thinks, "God help me. It was hard to keep my heart from her," then mutters morosely, "I'll not be called an adventurer,—an heiress hunter. Her million stands up between us more colossal than ever." Though a moment after, he says determinedly: "By Heaven!—No one else shall ever have her—my angel!"