“I don’t want to accept it. I don’t want to take the money or be under any obligation.”
“You were willing to be under the obligation, as you call it, a few weeks ago?”
Bessie’s voice was as cold as steel. From the moment she had entered the room she had felt an instinctive antagonism between herself and her husband’s eldest child. It would become a hatred in time. The girl’s slow and reluctant way of speaking seemed to indicate that she expressed herself with difficulty, like one who, under pressure, tells the truth.
“My mother wanted me to accept anything that was for my own benefit. Now she is dead. I am my own mistress. I grieve or hurt no one but myself if I refuse your offer. And, as things are now, it is better for me to refuse it.”
“What do you mean by ‘as things are now’? Has anything happened to change your ideas since my husband first made the suggestion to you?”
Mariposa told her lie as a woman does, with reservations. It was creditably done, for it was the first lie she had ever told in her life.
“Nothing has actually happened, but—I—I—have changed.”
“And are you going to let a girl’s whims stand in the way of your future success in life? I can’t believe that. My dear, you’re handsome and you’ve a fine voice, but do you think those two things, without a cent behind them, are going to put you on top of the heap? You’re not the woman to get there without a lot of boosting.”
“Why should I want to get on top of the heap?”
“Oh, if you want to stay at the bottom—”