“My dear Mrs. Delilah Jones, you overcome me with your sentimentality. I don’t believe in love. That’s what I believe in,” said he, as he opened his pocket-book and showed her the bills.
The woman looked at them unmoved.
“Those are the delicate little keys of the Future,” chuckled Abel, as he gloated over the paper.
The woman raised her eyes and looked into his. They were busy with the bills. Then with the same low tone, as if the wind were wailing, she asked,
“Abel, tell me, before we go upon this long journey, don’t you love me in the least?”
Her voice sank into an almost inaudible whisper.
Abel turned and looked at her, gayly.
“Love you? Why, woman, what is love? No, I don’t love you. I don’t love any body. But that’s no matter; you shall go with me as if I did. You know, as well as I do, that I can’t whine and sing silly. I’ll be your friend, and you’ll be mine, and this shall be the friend of both,” said he, as he raised the bills in his hands.
She sat beside him silent, and her eyes were hot and dry, not wet with tears. There was a look of woe in her face so touching and appealing that, when Abel happened to see it, he said, involuntarily,
“Come, come, don’t be silly.”