Anthea smiled at him curiously. "Well," she said, "I may not have very much money, after all—and, if I had, is there any reason why you should be willing to give up more than I would? Does it matter so very much that I may, perhaps, be a little richer than you are?"
The veins showed swollen on the man's forehead, and again he struggled with the impulses that had carried him away, for the discrepancy in wealth was, after all, only a minor obstacle. Anthea, too, clearly realized that, and she roused herself for an effort.
"Jimmy," she said, while he stood silent, "would it hurt you very much if I admitted that you were right, and sent you away? After all, you have scarcely said anything that could make one think you would feel it very keenly."
The man stooped a little, and seized one of her hands. "Dear, you are all I want, and to go would be the hardest thing I ever did; but there is your father's opposition to consider, and, if to stay would bring you trouble, I might compel myself."
"Ah!" said Anthea softly, "the trouble would come if you went away."
Then with a little resolute movement she drew herself away from him, and looked up with a flush in her face and a quickening of her breath, for there was something of moment to be said. "There is a reason you haven't mentioned yet, though your sister did. Does that count for so very much with you?"
"Eleanor!" said Jimmy, while a thrill of anger ran through him. "I might have known she would do this."
He stood quite still for several moments with a hand clenched at his side and his face furrowed, and when he spoke again it was hoarsely.
"What did she tell you?" he asked.
"I think she told me all that she knew about your father's ruin, and his death. It was very hard to listen to, Jimmy—but did it really happen that way?"