"Oh, sir!" cried the boy, "but surely there is some excuse! Of course," he added, with an effort to control his feelings, "I do not know Miss Philippa, but assuredly a young girl who is cursed with great wealth must discriminate between those who love her for herself and those who come to woo her because she is wealthy. Oh, believe me, it is, it must be very painful to be wealthy, to have to suspect and doubt—to run the hazard of wounding some noble nature, who may be by chance among the sordid crowd who come to kneel to her because she is an heiress—who would turn their backs upon her were she portionless. Indeed, we should excuse much."
"Yes," said Mowbray, "and you defend the cause of heiresses well. But let me come back to my narrative. The suspicion of this young girl was immense—as her fortune was. That fortune chilled me whenever I thought of it. I did not want it. I could have married her—I had quite enough for both. Heaven decreed that she should be wealthy, however—that the glitter of gold should blind her heart—that she should suspect my motives. Do not understand me to say that she placed any value upon that wealth herself. No; I believe she despised, almost regretted it: but still, who can tell? At least I love her too much still to hazard what may be unjust—ah! the cinder is not cold."
And Mowbray's head drooped. They walked on in silence.
"Well, well," he continued at length, "I saw her often. I could not strangle my feelings. I loved her—in spite of her wealth—not on account of it. But gradually my sentiment moderated: like a whip of scorpions, this suspicion she felt struck me, wounding my heart and inflaming my pride. I tried to stay away; I dragged through life for a week without seeing her; then, impelled by a violent impulse, I went to her again, armed with an impassible pride, and determined to converse upon the most indifferent subjects—to test her nature fully, and—to make the test complete—bend all the energies of my mind to the task of weighing her words, her looks, her tones, that I might make a final decision. Well, she almost distinctly intimated, fifteen minutes after our interview commenced, that I was a fortune-hunter whom she regarded with a mixture of amusement and contempt."
"Oh, sir! could it have been that you——"
The boy stopped.
"How unhappy she must be—to have to suspect such noble natures as your own," he added in a low voice.
Mowbray turned away his head; then by a powerful effort went on.
"You shall judge, Charles," he said in a voice which he mastered only by a struggle; "you shall say whether I am correct in my opinion of her thoughts. She asked me plainly if I was poor; to which question I replied with a single word—'Very.' Next, did I hope to become rich! I did hope so. Her advice then was, she said, that I should marry some heiress, since that was a surer and more rapid means than law or politics. She said it very satirically, and with a glance which killed my love——"
"Oh, sir!" the boy murmured.