“But Nellie Dean says the town also wished to buy and you refused its offer, too.”
“Yes.”
“You don't seem to care for money, either, Mr. Paine. Are all Cape Cod people so unmercenary? Or is it that you all have money enough—. . . Pardon me. That was impolite. I spoke without thinking.”
“Oh, never mind. I am not sensitive—on that point, at least.”
“But I do mind. And I am sorry I said it. And I should like to understand. I see why the townspeople do not want the Lane closed. But you have not lived here always. Only a few years, so Miss Dean says. She said, too, that that Mr. Taylor, the cashier, was almost the only intimate friend you have made since you came. Others would like to be friendly, but you will not permit them to be. And, yet for these people, mere acquaintances, you are sacrificing what Father would call a profitable deal.”
“Not altogether for them. I can't explain my feeling exactly. I know only that to sell them out and make money—and heaven knows I need money—at their expense seems to me dead wrong.”
“Then why don't you sell to THEM?”
“I don't know. Unless it was because to refuse your father's offer and accept a lower one seemed a mean trick, too. And I won't be bullied into selling to anyone. I guess that is it, as much as anything.”
“My! how stubborn you must be.”
“I don't know why I have preached this sermon to you, Miss Colton, your sympathies in the fight are with your father, naturally.”