"Yes, I do."
"Well, I am not so very old, and I am rich; between one thing and another I have about eight thousand a year. We might be very happy together—don't interrupt me, I am just stating my case—money means a lot in this world; it's not everything, I admit—there are some men richer than I, that I would be sorry to see any girl married to. Well, on the other hand, there is this other man; he may be awfully jolly, and all that sort of thing, but he's poor—very poor, from what I can gather. Before you kick me over, think of the future—think well."
"Do you know," said Fanny, "that if you had come yesterday, and had asked me to marry you, I believe I would have said 'yes,' and then we would have been always miserable. I would have married you for your money; not for myself, but to help father. But you see now that he is going to be married to Miss Pursehouse she'll take care of him."
"He is not married to her yet," said Charles, thinking of Lulu Morgan's words, and cursing himself for having let days slip by, for he could have called yesterday, or the day before, but for indecision—that most fatal of all elements in human affairs.
"No, but he will marry her, for when father makes up his mind to do a thing he always does it."
"So then," he said, "you have made up your mind irrevocably not to have anything to do with me?"
"I must, I must—Oh dear, I wish I were dead. I will always be your friend—I will always be a sister to you."
"Don't—don't say anything more about it, please. You can't help yourself—it's fate."
"You're not angry with me?"
"No—let us talk of other things. How are you getting on, has that man been giving any more trouble?"