"You mean, then, that your mind is really made up!" said Courtlandt, with an ire, a fierceness, that she had never seen in him before. "You mean that for a little riches, a little power, you'll turn marriage, that should be a holy usage, into this wicked mockery?"
Pauline bit her lip. Such a speech as this from her equanimous cousin was literally without precedent. She felt stung and guilty as she said, with cool defiance,—
"Who holds marriage as a holy usage? I've never seen anyone who did."
"I do!" he asseverated, with clouding face. "You do, too, Pauline in your heart."
"I haven't any heart. They're not worn nowadays. They're out of fashion. We carry purses instead—when we can."
"I think I will tell Mr. Varick you said that," he answered, measuring each word grimly.
"Oh, do!" Pauline exclaimed. A weary and mournful bravado filled her tones. "How he would laugh! Do you fancy he thinks I care a button for him? Why, nearly the first sentence he spoke to mamma on this weighty subject concerned the number of yearly thousands he was willing to settle upon me."
"So, it is all arranged?"
"It only awaits your approval."
"It can only get my contempt!"