Olive only smiled, and remained silent, while he looked into her eyes with a curiously mingled expression, which seemed to be both imploring and commanding, but she only said,
'They were not of you—why should they be?'
Allan drew back a pace, with a cloudy brow.
'Forgive my being playful for a moment, Olive—I shall never in this way offend you again.'
She gave him a sweet and deprecating, almost an entreating, glance; but Allan did not perceive it; his face was turned angrily and sadly from her, so her pique—ever so ready—became roused.
'Olive,' said Allan, after a pause, 'love should always be stronger than pride.'
'Of course—when love exists,' she replied, turning a shoulder from him.
'And with you, Olive, do not let it stand between us as before. If your father's will is again the cause, let me tell you once more that I refuse to have any share in that lunatic arrangement, and will not marry you on any such conditions.'
'Who is thinking or talking of marriage?' said she, sarcastically, yet making an effort to restrain her tears; 'moreover, I fear that as a husband you would be very tyrannical and cruel.'
'My character in the present and the past does not bear out this, I think.'