“Oh, yes, well enough,” she answered rather crossly, feeling herself an unpleasant void at the heart which she feared might lead to some foolish exhibition of weakness.
“It was an interest in life, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, yes, but there are plenty more left.”
“For you, yes, because you’re so good.”
“Nonsense, I’m no better than you might be if you liked. It was your money that did most of it, remember. I assure you I don’t forget the obligation.”
“Now, Ella, don’t be ridiculous. What do I care about the miserable money?”
“You’d care a great deal, if you were wise. A rich man who makes himself comparatively poor by the good things he does with his money is a fine fellow.”
Clarence cleared his throat two or three times, and began to shake violently.
“Do you—do you think, Ella,” he began at last huskily, “that you’d ever—care to—care to—make a fine fellow—of me?”
Ella turned sharply about and faced him.