"I believe you really mean that," he stumbled, unable quite to comprehend it.
"Certainly I do," she assured him.
"But you don't understand," he protested. "You can't understand or you would at least take time for more serious consideration. You are relinquishing your entire fortune!"
"Making myself a penniless pauper," she mocked with a light-hearted feeling that some one—description mentally evaded—would make a fortune unnecessary.
"It is a million dollars," he insisted.
"A million—that sounds familiar!" and she laughed in remembrance of her tilt with Polly.
Gresham swallowed three separate and very distinct times.
"A half-interest in that million is mine," he complained. "You can not turn over your share to an absurd charity without also throwing mine away. It is not fair."
"Fair?" repeated Constance. For an instant she felt her temper surging, then caught herself and took refuge in burlesque. "The only fair thing about it is that my Aunt Gertrude's will gave her orphaned niece the choice between a title with riches and poverty with freedom," and raising her eyes and hand toward heaven she started to sweep from the room with queenly grace, stifling a giggle as she went.
"Wait just a minute," begged Gresham, suppressing his anger. "We should arrange in some way to keep the money. We can, at least, be practical."