"It means," said Agnes, replying very directly, "that the victim is no longer decked out for the sacrifice. It means, that as Hubert insulted me by his will, I no longer intend to consider his memory."
"But, Agnes, you respected him. You always said that you did?"
"Quite so, until his will was read. Then when I found that his mean jealousy—which was entirely unreasonable—had arranged to rob me of my income by preventing my marriage with you, I ceased to have any regard for him. Hubert knew that I loved you, and was content to take me on those terms so long as I was loyal to him. I was loyal, and did what I could to show him gratitude for the way in which he helped the family. Now his will has broken the bargain I respect him no longer, and for that reason I refuse to pose any longer as a grieving widow."
"I wonder, with these thoughts, that you posed at all," said Lambert gloomily, and pushed forward a chair.
"I could not make up my mind until lately what to do," explained Agnes, sitting down gracefully, "and while I accepted his money it appeared to me that I ought to show his memory the outward respect of crape and all the rest of it. Now," she leaned forward and spoke meaningly, "I am resolved to surrender the money. That breaks the link between us. The will! the will!" she tapped an impatient foot on the carpet. "How could you expect any woman to put up with such an insult?"
Lambert dropped on the sofa and looked at her hard. "What's up?" he asked anxiously. "I never saw you like this before."
"I was not free when you last saw me," she replied dryly.
"Oh, yes; you were a widow."
"I mean free, in my own mind, to marry you. I am now. I don't intend to consider the family or society, or Mr. Silver's threats, or anything else. I have shaken off my fetters; I have discarded my ring." She violently pulled off her glove to show that the circle of gold was absent. "I am free, and I thank God that I am free."
"Agnes! Agnes! I can't reduce you to poverty by marrying you. It would not be honorable of me."