“I want you to let me stay—in my home.”
He lifted his eyebrows.
“I thought we discussed that matter pretty thoroughly yesterday afternoon,” he said. “I can think of nothing more to say on the subject.”
“But,” she persisted, “I don’t intend to give it up. I—can’t.”
He was silent. But his look angered her unreasonably.
“You don’t want the farm!” she burst out, with sudden hot indignation. “You’ve got most of the farms about here now, and you’ll have the others in time, I suppose.”
“You appear to know a good deal about my business,” he said ironically. “But you’re right. I don’t want the Preston farm. I don’t want any of ’em. Why should I? Most of them are like yours, worn out, worthless. But the owners want my money—your father did. And I let him have what he asked for. I might have refused. But I let him have a thousand dollars, and he took it, did as he liked with it—drank it up, for all I know. And now you come here begging——”
The girl sprang to her feet; her gray eyes blazed angrily upon him.
“I’m not begging!” she cried. “All I want is the chance to pay you—every cent, and I could do it—I will do it.”