"I have no slaves at all, Mr. Rockwell, being a Christian!" retorted Whitney, forgetting himself for an instant. Then, after an ominous little pause, he remarked, in another tone: "I crave your pardon. I have one hundred pounds a year from my parish, and something laid by. It is quite true that I cannot give Mistress Lucy a home like this; but I will engage to keep her always housed from God's weather, well shielded from cold, and with enough to eat—if not of the finest, at least of such as should satisfy her, provided it be served with the sauce of sweet content. Moreover—I will take no dower with my wife."
At this last Claude opened his eyes widely, Rockwell looked put out, and Madam Trevor glanced at the speaker with a new expression.
Vincent, turning from the Puritan with the barest smile at his earnestness, addressed his rival: "And you, George Rockwell—what have you?"
Rockwell cleared his throat, and rose as if he were to speak from the pulpit: "My income from St. Anne's is, I confess without mortification, no greater than that which this gentleman—um—ah—has just said to be his portion from the meeting-house. My fees and perquisites as Church of England clergyman, however, make the sum far larger annually. I think also that you, madam, and Mistress Lucy, will recognize the difference between the—to speak gently—the somewhat humble abode of Mr. Whitney and the rectory which I myself have the honor to occupy, and where I am accustomed to entertain his excellency himself."
"Pardon me, sir, but could you indeed imagine that, after my marriage, I should not instantly remove to an abode more suited than my present one to a lady's convenience? Do you imagine—"
"You interrupt, sir. I make no observations on what your conduct will be. I am only aware of what it is."
"It is, sir, so far as I am aware, irreproachable!"
"Come, come, gentlemen," interposed Vincent, in some displeasure, "we wander from the subject. You—a—have not spoken of dower, Rockwell. Of course, my sister, being of our family, would not lack suitable outfit and settlement on entering a new estate. Still—"
"I was sure," interrupted Rockwell, hastily, for the point was delicate—"I was sure that you would regard it as well—nay, might as a pride consider it indispensable, Vincent, that—"
"Stop! Let me go away." Lucy had risen, quivering, to her feet, her mild eyes blazing, her voice low and unnatural. "I will not be bargained for, bought and sold, as slaves or horses are. Vincent, you have insulted me by permitting such a scene. And you—" turning to Whitney and Rockwell—"you are heartless and soulless. Love! What do you know of that?"