Her lovely eyes rested on him for a moment, then looked aside.
His face went white.
“I understand,” he said, hoarsely, “you—you think I am no more than the dirt under your feet. You think, because I made my own way in the world, and haven’t got an old name or a title, that it’s an insult for me to ask you to be my wife! You wouldn’t treat Lord Bertie or—or that fellow Faradeane like this——”
At Bertie’s name a smile flickered about her lips, but at Faradeane’s a wave of color swept over her face and neck.
“Ah!” he said, with passionate anger. “That’s true, I can see. But let me tell you that I think myself as good as either of them. Stop”—for she had made another attempt to pass him—“as good, and better. Could either of them offer what I do? I’ve just told your father that I’d settle fifty thousand pounds upon you. I tell you now that that’s nothing to me; I didn’t make it more for fear of hurting his feelings; but I tell you I’ll settle a hundred, two hundred thousand——”
She put out her hand.
“Oh, hush!” she said, as if his words covered her with shame. “If it were a million——”
“Oh, I know,” he broke in, huskily; “it’s as he said. You don’t care for money. It’s all the same to you whether a man’s poor or rich; but money’s something. Olivia——”
“I am usually addressed as Miss Olivia Vanley,” said Olivia, flashing down upon him.
He bit his lip.