“I want to give you a share of the estate left me by my father. I look upon it as yours.”
There was a pause. He saw her paling under his gaze, and realized that, whatever she might pretend, she knew. His heart bled for her.
“As mine!” she said in a low, uncertain voice. “Why?”
“Because you have a right to it.”
There was another pause. He moved close to her and said, in a voice full of a man’s deep kindness:
“I can’t explain any more. Don’t ask it. Don’t let’s bother about anything in the background. It’s just the present that’s our affair.”
He suddenly dropped his hat and took her hand. It was as cold now as his had been. He pressed it, and Mariposa, looking dazedly at him, saw a gleam like tears behind the glasses.
“It’s hateful to have you living here like this, while we—that is, while other people—have everything. I can’t stand it. It’s too mean and unfair. I want you to share with me.”
She shook her head, looking down, a hundred thoughts bursting in upon her brain. What did he know? How had he found it out? In his grasp, her hand trembled pitifully.
“Don’t shake your head,” he pleaded, “it’s so hard to say it. Don’t turn it down before you’ve heard me out.”