“No, John,” she said calmly. “I cannot yet consent.”
“Your old excuse,” he cried, striding up and down the room.
“I never held out hopes to you that it would be soon,” she replied; and I felt that she must be looking at him wistfully.
“But why—why all this waiting, dear?” he said, evidently struggling with his anger, and striving to speak calmly.
“I have told you again and again, dear John, my sole reason.”
“And what is that?” he said bitterly; “it must have been so trifling that I forget it.”
“You do not forget it, indeed,” she said tenderly. “I ask you to wait, because I wish, when I marry you, to be sure that I am offering you a true and loving wife.”
“Oh, if that’s all,” he said laughingly, “I’m satisfied as you are; and on my soul, Miriam, I wish you had not a penny, so that all ideas of self-interest might be set aside!”
“They are set aside, dear John,” she said calmly.
“Well then, love, let there be an end to this miserable waiting and disappointment. If I did not know thoroughly your sweet disposition, and that you are so far above all silly coquettish ways, I should say that you were trifling with me, to make me more eager for the day.”