Chapter Eighty Five.
A Kind Cousin.
Louise Poindexter made fall use of the liberty allowed by her father. In less than an hour after, Calhoun was flatly refused.
It was his third time of asking. Twice before had the same suit been preferred; informally, and rather by a figure of speech than in the shape of a direct declaration.
It was the third time; and the answer told it would be the last. It was a simple “No,” emphatically followed by the equally simple “Never!”
There was no prevarication about the speech—no apology for having made it.
Calhoun listened to his rejection, without much show of surprise. Possibly—in all probability—he expected it.
But instead of the blank look of despair usually observable under the circumstances, his features remained firm, and his cheeks free from blanching.
As he stood confronting his fair cousin, a spectator might have been reminded of the jaguar, as it pauses before springing on its prey.
There was that in his eye which seemed to say:—