“I forgive your conduct,” said Harriet, unmoved.
“And the—the Goose you were in love with?” inquired Mynheer Mopius, not without some satisfaction.
“He was unworthy,” replied Harriet, with level eyebrows. “He has thrown me over.”
“As soon as he had the money,” said Mynheer Mopius, rubbing his palms between his knees.
“Yes, as soon as he had the money,” admitted the girl, quite simply. “It appears there is another woman in the business. All that is dead and gone. All my money’s gone. I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday morning. Never mind that. But my decision’s taken. I’ve come back to marry you. And I mean to.”
“You can’t against my will, Harriet,” said Mynheer Mopius, beaming. “Go away.”
“Look here, Uncle Jacob, you’re going to marry me, or—don’t make me say the alternative. I’d rather think you married me without the alternative. It’s not very nice, anyway, but I don’t intend to starve. And, as I don’t believe in men any more, it really doesn’t matter much. Now ring for the servants, and tell them you’re going to marry me.”
“Harriet, go away!”
Harriet crossed to the bell-rope and pulled it. “What does your Worship here?” she said, incoherently. “You asked me a week ago, and I said no. You don’t ask me to-day, and I say yes. Such is woman. Better than man, at his worst.”
The footman answered the bell. For a moment Harriet’s courage failed her before his severe expectancy. “Bring some biscuits,” she said.