"Nothing at all," he blustered. "I don't care—THAT"—he snapped his fingers—"for her opinion. I don't care if everybody in the world is against our marrying. I want just you—only you."
"Obviously," said she with a dry laugh that was highly disconcerting to him. "I certainly have no fortune—or hope of one, so far as I know."
This so astounded, so disconcerted him that he forgot to conceal it. "Why, I thought—your grandmother—that is—" He was remembering, was stammering, was unable to finish.
"Go on," she urged, obviously enjoying his hot confusion.
He became suddenly angry. "Look here, Margaret," he cried, "you don't suspect me of—"
She put her fingers on his lips and laughed quietly at him. "You'd better run along now. I'm going to hurry away to grandmother, to try to repair the damage you did." She rose and called, "Lucia! Lucia!" The round, rosy, rather slovenly Miss Severence appeared in the little balcony—the only part of the house in view from where they sat.
"Telephone the stables for the small victoria," called Margaret.
"Mother's out in it," replied Lucia.
"Then the small brougham."
"I want that. Why don't you take the electric?"