“It was for that I came, Dolly,” said he, rising and taking a turn or two up and down the room; for, in truth, he was sorely puzzled how to approach the theme that engaged him. “I want your aid; I want your woman's wit to help me in a difficulty. Here's what it is, Dolly,” and he sat down again at her side, and took her hand in his own. “Tell me, Dolly,” said he, suddenly, “is it true, as I have read somewhere, that a woman, after having made a man in love with her, will boast that she is not in the least bound to requite his affection if she satisfies herself that she has elevated him in his ambition, given a higher spring to his hope,—made him, in fact, something better and nobler than his own uninspired nature had ever taught him to be? I 'm not sure that I have said what I meant to say; but you 'll be able to guess what I intend.”
“You mean, perhaps, will a woman accept a man's love as a means of serving him without any intention of returning it?”
Perhaps he did not like the fashion in which she put his question, for he did not answer, save by a nod.
“I say yes; such a thing is possible, and might happen readily enough if great difference of station separated them.”
“Do you mean if one was rich and the other poor?”
“Not exactly; because inequalities of fortune may exist between persons of equal condition.”
“In which case,” said he, hurriedly, “you would not call their stations unequal, would you?”
“That would depend on how far wealth contributed to the habits of the wealthier. Some people are so accustomed to affluence, it is so much the accompaniment of their daily lives, that the world has for them but one aspect.”
“Like our neighbors here, the Lyles, for instance?” said he.
Dolly gave a slight start, like a sudden pang of pain, and grew deadly pale. She drew away her hand at the same time, and passed it across her brow.