“He has told me so more than once,” returned Curtis, smoothly. “You don’t know how near to his heart this marriage is. I know what you would say: If the property comes to me I could come to your assistance, but I am expressly prohibited from doing so. I have pleaded with my uncle in your behalf, but in vain.”
Florence was too clear-sighted not to penetrate his falsehood.
“If my uncle’s heart is hardened against me,” she said, “I shall be too wise to turn to you. I am to understand, then, that my choice lies between poverty and a union with you?”
“You have stated it correctly, Florence.”
“Then,” said Florence, arising, “I will not hesitate. I shrink from poverty, for I have been reared in luxury, but I will sooner live in a hovel—”
“Or a tenement house,” interjected Curtis, with a sneer.
“Yes, or a tenement house, than become the wife of one I loathe.”
“Girl, you shall bitterly repent that word!” said Curtis, stung to fury.
She did not reply, but, pale and sorrowful, glided from the room to weep bitter tears in the seclusion of her chamber.