Diana was unmoved, though a little discouraged.
“My love will never be forgotten,” she gulped. “Wopsy, you see how impossible it is—did you get the money?”
“The money—you sent it to me? But, Diana, how foolish!”
“I sent it by cheque,” she said.
He sank back again in his chair.
“You are a foolish little one. Money!” He laughed cruelly. “How you Anglo-Saxons worship money! To men of my temperament ...!” He snapped his fingers. “As to your unfaithfulness to the great ideal I provided, your heartless disregard for my memory, I forgive you. You were only a child—you could not be expected to cherish the memory of the man who died for you. That is past. We belong to the Day—to-morrow, Monday, Tuesday we shall be married.”
“What are we doing on Wednesday?” she asked. “Forgive me for looking so far ahead.”
For a second he was disconcerted, uneasy: that he betrayed in his laughter.
“My dear little Diana, how droll you are——”
“Listen, Dempsi or Wopsy, as the case may be—you are returning to your hotel to-morrow. We are not getting married on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday. Shall I tell you why? I see that you are interested. Because I don’t want to marry you.”