“No,” said Poynter, flushing angrily, “I won’t. Now, don’t put me in a temper over this by being foolish. What’s the good of it? You know it’s for the best, and that as my wife you can help the old man, and get your brother on. See what a practise you could buy Hendon by and by.”
“Mr Poynter, I have already told you, I can say no more.”
“Don’t say any more, then,” he cried, barring her way of exit, as he gave his hat a final polish, and pocketed his handkerchief. “I respect you—no, I love you all the more for holding out; but there’s been enough of it now, so let’s talk sensibly. Come, I say. Why, after this upset some men would have fought shy of the place, even if you’d had a fortune. I don’t: I come to you quite humble, and say what shall I do for you first?”
Rich stood before him pale, and with her eyes flashing in a way that penetrated even the thick hide of his vanity, and was unmistakable.
“Look here,” he said angrily, “don’t go on like that. It makes a fellow feel put out.”
Richmond once more essayed to leave the room, but Poynter stayed her.
“Look here,” he said, “I’m a City man, I am. I began life with nothing, but I said to myself I’d make my fortune, and I’ve made it. While other fellows were fooling about, I worked till I could afford to do as they did, and then, perhaps, I had my turn. Then I saw you, and when I had seen you I said to myself that’s the woman for my wife.”
“Mr Poynter!”
“Yes, and some day it shall be Mrs Poynter. I said it should, and so it shall!”
“Mr Poynter, will you leave this house?”