She hurried her words, fearful that he might rush from the room before she could utter the belated explanation.
"I don't want to be poor. I don't want to go through life as my mother has gone, always fighting for the things she most desired, always being behind the game she was forced to play. You can't understand,—you are too big and fine,—you cannot understand the little things, Braden. I want love and happiness, but I want the other, too. Don't you see that with all this money at my command I can be independent, I can be safe for all time, I can give more than myself in return for the love that I must have? Don't you understand why—"
She was quite close to him when he interrupted the impassioned appeal. His hand shook as he held it up to check her approach.
"It's all over, Anne. There is nothing more to be said. I understand everything now. May God forgive you," he said huskily.
She stopped short. Her head went up and defiance shone in her face.
"I'd rather have your forgiveness than God's," she said distinctly, "and since I may not ask for it now, I will wait for it, my friend. We love each other. Time mends a good many breaks. Good-bye! Some day I hope you'll come to see your poor old granny, and bring—"
"Oh, for the love of heaven, have a little decency, Anne," he cried, his lip curling.
But her pride was roused, it was in revolt against all of the finer instincts that struggled for expression.
"You'd better go now. Run upstairs and tell your grandfather that his scheme worked perfectly. Tell him everything I have said. He will not mind. I am sorry you will not remain to see the contract signed. I should like to have you for a witness. If you—"
"Contract? What contract?"