This was easy sailing. Gresham walked over and took the chair nearest her.
"It is, of course, unnecessary to discuss the provisions made by your Aunt Gertrude," he stated. "Even had such a will never been written, I am quite sure that the result would have been the same, and that to-day, after the long friendship which I have enjoyed with you, I should be asking you, as I am now, to become my wife," and taking her hand in his, he very gracefully kissed it.
Constance as gracefully drew it away.
"You have done your duty very nicely, Mr. Gresham," she said. "It must have been as awkward for you to be compelled to make this proposal as it is for me to be compelled to refuse it. It would be wicked for us to marry."
"You are very harsh," he managed to protest. "I am sure that I should not feel wicked in marrying you."
"Perhaps you haven't my sort of conscience," answered Constance, laughing to conceal her intense hatred and contempt of him.
Gresham, adopting also the light manner of small talk, laughed with her.
"Really it wouldn't be so bad," he urged. "We would make a very fair couple when we were averaged. You are beautiful and accomplished enough to make up for all the deficiencies I may have."
"You do say nice things to me," acknowledged Constance, "but there is one deficiency you have overlooked. We do not love each other, and that is fatal to Aunt Gertrude's rather impertinent plans. It renders even a discussion of the matter impossible. I can not marry you ever."
Gresham's lips turned dry.