“You are making me into an imbecile,” replied he. “I was laughing at myself. I’m glad I had that laugh. I think I can talk sensibly now—without making myself ridiculous.” Once more he put on a highly impressive, highly ominous air of sober resoluteness. He began: “A short time ago you did me the honor of telling me you were in love with me.”
“Yes. Do you—do you think poorly of me for having been frank?” And the gray eyes looked innocent anxiety.
“No, I don’t,” confessed he. “As a general proposition, I think I should have thought—well, queerly—of a girl who came out with such a startler on no especial provocation. But in this case the effect is puzzlingly different. Probably because I can’t in the least believe you.”
“Oh, no—that’s not the reason,” cried she. “It was only right that I should speak first. You see, when the girl’s poor, and marrying her is going to put the man to great expense—it’d be—be—downright impertinent for her to say such a thing. It’d be as if she asked him to support her for life.”
“Maybe so,” said he. “The money side of it didn’t occur to me. Naturally, you, who have much money, would think more about it than I, who have little.”
“Would you be afraid to—to marry—a woman who had a lot more money than you?”
“Not in the least,” declared he. “How ridiculous!”
A chill of suspicion crept into her face.
“I don’t want to marry, and I shan’t marry,” continued he. “But if I did want to marry, and wanted the woman, I’d not care who she was or what she was or what she had or hadn’t—so long as she was what I wanted. And I don’t think even you, crazy as you are about money, could suspect me of having the same mania.”
His tone and his manner would have convinced anyone. They convinced her. She drew a huge sigh of relief. “I’m glad you said that—in just that way,” said she.