'Admission or not, it was you,' said Alison, with emotions of gratitude and humiliation struggling in her proud heart, while her beautiful eyes looked shrinkingly upward to his; 'but, oh, my heart tells me, with fear, that it may have come too late—too late.'
'Do not say so,' replied Cadbury, in his kindest tone. 'If I have not graces of the person to recommend me,' he added, in a low voice, 'I have—it is admitted—great wealth; if that will make you happy, it is yours—and his.'
'I cannot love you for what you may have, and you cannot love me for what I have only got—a loveless heart.'
'But I may love you for what you are. There is a writer who tells that "it is finer to be loved for what you are than for what you have got," because the looks and money often run away, but you remain—unless you die, that is to say.'
'Again this detestable subject!' thought Alison.
'I pity the loneliness of the life you lead here,' said he, 'with your birds, fowls, and flowers only as your companions.'
'And better to me as such, than some people can ever be.'
Cadbury was silent. There was the old dangerous glitter in his ferret-like eyes, and he tugged at his long white moustachios, but ere he could resume, Alison said,
'Excuse me, I must go to papa; I am sure I heard his bell.'
So the peer withdrew, only to come next day in 'his anxiety about the health of his old friend.'