"It is, it is," says she hoarsely. "I can't again go through what I suffered before. Wait, do wait—something—something will happen——"
"You refuse me?" says he, in a lifeless tone.
"Not that. Don't speak like that. Don't leave me, Maurice."
"It is our last hour," says he deliberately. "Be sure of that. If money is so much to you—if money counts so far beyond all that a man can give you of his heart and soul—then take it."
"And you," says she, "are you not seeking money, too? This girl, this little fool; your mother has led you to think of her. You will marry her!"
"I will marry you," says he coldly, "if you will marry me."
"I have told you that it is impossible"—she draws a deep breath—"at present."
"You will not trust me, then, to make a fortune for you?"
"A fortune! It takes so long to make; and," smiling, and drawing nearer to him, and suddenly flinging her arms around his neck, "are we not happy as we are?"
"No." He loosens her arms lightly, and, still holding them, looks at her. How fair she is, how desirable! "Marian," says he hoarsely, "think! It is indeed my last word. Will you trust yourself to me as things are, or will you reject me? Marian, say you will marry me as I now am—poor, ruined."