"Come!" he said. "I want to understand, don't you know. That note of yours. You say in it that you accepted me for the sake of my money. Even so. But I reckon that is more a reason for sticking to me than for throwing me over."
He paused, but her head only drooped a little lower.
"Doesn't that reason still exist?" he asked her, point blank.
She shivered at the direct question, but she answered it.
"Yes; it does. And that's why I'm ashamed to go on."
"Why ashamed?" he asked. "How do you know my reason for wanting to marry you is as good since I never told you what it was?"
She looked up then, suddenly and swiftly, and caught a curious glint in the blue eyes that watched her.
"I do know," she said, speaking quickly, impulsively. "And that's why—I can't bear—that you should despise me."
"Ah!" he said. "Do you really care what an outsider like myself thinks of you?"
The colour flamed suddenly in her white face, but he went on in his quiet drawl as if he had not seen it: