'Then you know more of me than I do of myself,' said Olive, provoked by his blunt brusquerie of manner, and failing to be flattered by his pertinacity just then.
'Perhaps you deem me an heiress?' said Olive, as a new light suddenly broke upon her.
'My dear Miss Raymond,' stammered Holcroft, colouring with surprise at the abruptness of her question. 'I never thought upon the subject; I only knew that—that—I am not just now a man of fortune; my place in Essex——' he paused, thinking the less he said about it the better. 'But who thinks of pelf when the heart is full of passion!' he added, magnanimously. 'But tell me now,' said he, in his most suave tone, 'do you care for anyone else more than for me?'
'I don't care for you at all—at least in the way you mean,' she replied, defiantly.
He ground his teeth, even while he smiled, and thought,
'I must have patience before I tempt my fate again!'
Hawke Holcroft had made it so much a habit during his sojourn at Dundargue to be in close attendance upon Olive—especially when they were alone together—that his lovemaking took her less by surprise. In a spirit of pique she had permitted him to dangle, and to play—if we may use the term—at admiration for herself; but, now that he had become serious a second time, she became alarmed.
The remark which had escaped her had excited some surprise in the mind of Holcroft, as it interested him deeply; thus he said, in a low soft voice,
'You referred to your not being an heiress, Miss Raymond, as if that could possibly make any difference with one who loves you as—as——'
'There, there, that will do!' interrupted the impetuous Olive; 'I am not an heiress, in one sense, but very much of a beggar, if you knew all,' she added, in a voice that faltered.