It was not said offensively, but in a tone of bitter resignation. Barmby sat down opposite to her, and leaned forward.
‘Do you think for one moment,’—his voice was softly melodious,—‘that I—I who have loved you for years—could let you suffer for want of money?’
He had not skill to read her countenance. Trouble he discerned, and shame; but the half-veiled eyes, the quivering nostril, the hard, cold lips, spoke a language beyond Samuel’s interpretation. Even had he known of the outrages previously inflicted upon her pride, and that this new attack came at a moment when her courage was baffled, her heart cruelly wounded, he would just as little have comprehended the spirit which now kept her mute.
He imagined her overcome by his generosity. Another of his great effects had come off with tolerable success.
‘Put your mind at rest,’ he pursued mellifluously. ‘You shall suffer no hardships. I answer for it.’
Still mute, and her head bowed low. Such is the power of nobility displayed before an erring soul!
‘You have never done me justice. Confess that you haven’t!’
To this remarkable appeal Nancy perforce replied:
‘I never thought ill of you.’
When she had spoken, colour came into her cheeks. Observing it, Samuel was strangely moved. Had he impressed her even more profoundly than he hoped to do? Jessica Morgan’s undisguised subjugation had flattered him into credulity respecting his influence over the female mind.