“Why, Mr. Smith, w-what—” Only the crisp shutting of the door answered her. With a beseeching look and a despairing gesture Mr. Smith had gone.
Once again Miss Maggie stood looking after Mr. Smith with dismayed eyes. Then, turning to sit down, she came face to face with her own image in the mirror.
“Well, now you’ve done it, Maggie Duff,” she whispered wrathfully to the reflection in the glass. “And you’ve broken his heart! He was—was going to say something—I know he was. And you? You’ve talked money, money, money to him for an hour. You said you loved money; and you told what you’d do—if you had twenty millions of dollars. And you know—you know he’s as poor as Job’s turkey, and that just now he’s more than ever plagued over—money! And yet you—Twenty millions of dollars! As if that counted against—”
With a little sobbing cry Miss Maggie covered her face with her hands and sat down, helplessly, angrily.
CHAPTER XXIII
REFLECTIONS—MIRRORED AND OTHERWISE
Miss Maggie was still sitting in the big chair with her face in her hands when the door opened and Mr. Smith came in. He was very white.
Miss Maggie, dropping her hands and starting up at his entrance, caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror in front of her. With a furtive, angry dab of her fingers at her wet eyes, she fell to rearranging the vases and photographs on the mantel.
“Oh, back again, Mr. Smith?” she greeted him, with studied unconcern.
Mr. Smith shut the door and advanced determinedly.
“Miss Maggie, I’ve got to face this thing out, of course. Even if I had—made a botch of things at the very start, it didn’t help any to—to run away, as I did. And I was a coward to do it. It was only because I—I—But never mind that. I’m coming now straight to the point. Miss Maggie, will you—marry me?”