“This becomes serious, Florence, and cannot be dismissed lightly. Our relations towards each other are all but the closest that can bind two destinies. They are such as reject all secrecy—all mystery at all events. Now, if Mr. Calvert’s request were the merest caprice, the veriest whim, it matters not The moment it becomes a matter of peace of mind to me it is no longer a trifle.”
“You are making a very serious matter of very little,” said she, partly offended.
“The unlimited confidence I have placed, and desire still to place, in you, is not a little matter. I insist upon having a full explanation.”
“You insist?”
“Yes, I insist Remember, Florence, that what I claim is not more my due for my sake than for your own. No name in the world should stand between yours and mine, least of all that of one whom neither of us can look on with respect or esteem.”
“If this be the remains of some old jealousy—”
“Jealousy! Jealousy! Why, what do you mean?”
“Simply that there was a time when he thought you his rival, and it was just possible you might have reciprocated the sentiment.”
“This is intolerable,” cried he. Then hastily checking his angry outburst, he added: “Why should we grow warm, Florence dearest, over a matter which can have but one aspect for us both? It is of you, not of myself I have been thinking all this time. I simply begged you to let me know what sort of relations existed between you and Mr. Calvert that should prevent you speaking of him to me.”
“You said something about insisting. Now, insisting is an ugly word. There is an air of menace about it.”