"I told you I was poor—"
"It is that, I suppose; he did not say—"
"He will never consent, unless—"
"There, Roland. I know him best." She closed her eyes, and as he gazed at her it seemed to him she had done so to shut some memory out. "It is money with him always; you do not know—" And between her parted lips she drew a breath he heard. "Last night he told me I must never see you again. Hitherto his will has ruled: it is my turn to-day."
With this there came a splendor to her he had never marked before; she looked defiant, and resolute as well. There was strength in her face, and beauty too.
"He is unjust," she added. "It was my duty to tell him, and there my duty ends. I am not a school-girl. I know my mind; better, perhaps, than he knows his own. I have obeyed him always. It is easy to obey, but now I will act for myself."
"He will never give his consent," Roland repeated.
"He may keep it, then."
Within her something seemed to rankle; and as Roland, mindful of the slightest change in her expression, detected this, he wondered what it could portend.
"Sweetheart," he ventured, "I have these two arms; they are all in all for you."