Lord Canning rose, closing his Tennyson. "I think I'll stroll down to the lake, Miss Stillwater, if you don't mind." He smiled at Glen, with a feeling of generosity.
Indiana looked after him thoughtfully as he strolled down through the trees.
"He's a thorough gentleman—so unobtrusive. He never asks prying questions—and he's never in the way."
"Too slow for me," replied Glen, watching her narrowly. "But I suppose you must have someone to flirt with."
Indiana swung slowly. "Perhaps—I'm in earnest—this time!"
Glen rose and grasped her wrist tightly. "Don't say that, Indy! While you're single I shall never give up hope. Now, what's in the way? I'm not your inferior in education. Do you know any handsomer fellow than I?"—with a grim affectation of humor. "If it's for money—I have all you'll ever want."
"I must marry a man of the world. I want to live in the world. We're both undeveloped—I'm not a woman yet, nor you a man."
"I don't consider I'm not a man," said Glen scornfully, "until I have conquered no end of women, and have their broken hearts for trophies, like an Indian with a string of scalps. I love one woman, and if she won't have me—well, I'll not give up until I see her tied pretty tightly to another man."
"I'm not worth it, Glen." She caught his arm, gazing earnestly up into his face, "I'm not worth all your devotion."
"I know you have faults enough, but, God help me, I love you all the better for them."