“You have either got to take them or wait for your money,” said Ellen.
“I'll wait,” said Evarts. He was looking at the girl's face with mingled sentiments of pity, admiration, and terror.
“Very well, then,” said Ellen. “I will promise you, and my father will, that you shall have your money in time, but how long do you want to wait?”
“I'll wait any time. I ain't in any straits for the money, if I get it in the end,” said Evarts.
“You will get it in the end,” said Ellen. Evarts turned to Andrew.
“Look here, give me your note for six months,” said he, “and we'll call it all right.”
“All right,” said Andrew, again.
“If you are not satisfied with that,” said Ellen, with a tone as if she were conferring inestimable benefits, so proud it was, “you can take the watch and chain. It is not hurt in the least. Here.” She was fairly insolent. Evarts regarded her with a mixture of admiration and terror. He told somebody the next day that Andrew Brewster had a stepper of a daughter, but he did not give his reasons for the statement. He had a sense of honor, and he had been in love with a girl as young before he married his wife, who had been a widow older than he, worth ten thousand dollars from her first husband. He could no more have taken the girl's watch and chain than he would have killed her.
“I'm quite satisfied,” he replied to her, making a repellant motion towards the watch and dangling chain glittering in the electric-light.
“Very well, then,” said Ellen, and she threw the chain over her neck.