Maud spoke with sudden affection, and Lewis took the little hand she held out and kissed it.
‘Why can’t you marry me, Maud? Once you thought you could. Do you care for any other fellow?’
‘No, no, Lewis; indeed it isn’t that.’
‘Then what is it?’
‘It is partly because I don’t really care enough for you, Lewis; and I don’t think you would like to find that out after we were married; and partly—partly because I do so detest Uncle Belassis and Aunt Celia. I could not—oh, I could not take their name, and make myself more of a relation than I am.’
‘Rather hard on me,’ remarked Lewis.
‘Very hard on you,’ assented Maud, with emphasis. ‘I know it is, Lewis, and I feel almost mean to serve you so. Perhaps if I were in love with you, I could put up with even that; but I’m not, and I really can’t do it, more especially as I believe that clause in the will was all your father’s doing—just a plot to keep the money in his own family. I think it’s very hard on you to have such a father.’
Lewis shook his head gravely.
‘I’m afraid sometimes he’ll get into trouble one of these days. I believe he’s been speculating awfully, and that plays old Harry with the money. I dare say I shan’t be much of a catch after all, Maud. Perhaps you’re wise to chuck me over.’
‘Now don’t be disagreeable, Lewis,’ said Maud. ‘You know if I wanted money, I should get it by marrying you. I’m glad you will have something substantial, even if Uncle Belassis does come to grief. I have thought him looking very anxious and frightened of late. Do you think anything has happened?’