“You need not say!” she interrupted him, contemptuously. “’Tis not for friendship you do kindnesses!”
“You know my price,” he said, with calm insolence. “I have waited long,” he added, under his breath.
“I will never pay it!” she replied with steady scorn, but so firmly Master Knickerbocker could not but believe her.
The truth was, he wanted her to be his wife, and she, knowing what manner of man he was, had withstood his importunities for years. She would none of him.
She held her head high.
He shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows.
“As you will, Mistress! In one week more you and your father will be beggars, and living on the charity of your friends—unless?” He flicked his riding boot with his whip and looked at her with defiance.
There was a short silence during which the lady grew very haughty, and then began to move away.
“Come,” the Coxcomb spoke again, in a different tone, following after her. “You love a good race—you’re a Southerner—what say you to a race—yourself and your home the stake? If you win I will cancel all these notes I hold against your father and accept your refusal to marry me as final. If I win, ah——”
Mistress Lloyd silenced him with a movement; she was no longer the slip of a girl True knew at Hartford. Here was a mature character of spirit and dignity, yet not lacking in the sweetness of perfect womanhood.