“That, at least, is an idle question. I’ve said I do not love you. Surely that is sufficient.”
“And I’ve said I love you. I gave it as one reason why I wish you for my wife: but there are others. Are you desirous of hearing them?”
As Calhoun asked this question the suppliant air forsook him. The spirit of the jaguar was once more in his eye.
“You said there were other reasons. State them! Do not be backward. I’m not afraid to listen.”
“Indeed!” he rejoined, sneeringly. “You’re not afraid, ain’t you?”
“Not that I know of. What have I to fear?”
“I won’t say what you have; but what your father has.”
“Let me hear it? What concerns him, equally affects me. I am his daughter; and now, alas, his only—. Go on, cousin Calhoun! What is this shadow hanging over him?”
“No shadow, Loo; but something serious, and substantial. A trouble he’s no longer able to contend with. You force me to speak of things you shouldn’t know anything about.”
“Oh! don’t I? You’re mistaken, cousin Cash. I know them already. I’m aware that my father’s in debt; and that you are his creditor. How could I have remained in ignorance of it? Your arrogance about the house—your presumption, shown every hour, and in presence of the domestics—has been evidence sufficient to satisfy even them, that there is something amiss. You are master of Casa del Corvo. I know it. You are not master of me!”