He was tall, strong and fair, with the proud beauty and commanding air we fancy in the Grecian gods of old.
She was petite, dark, brilliant as a rose, and passionate as the tropical blood of the south could make her.
Breaking down the bars of her great emotion at last, she laughed aloud—a cool, insolent, incredulous laugh that made the hot blood bound faster through his veins, and a flush creep over his face.
"You call me aunt," she said; "ha! ha!"
"Yes, madam, you bear that relationship to me since your marriage with my uncle," he answered, with a formal bow.
"You expect to find me a most loving relative, no doubt?" she said, with exasperating coolness.
"I hope to do so, at least," he said, with calm frankness, "I cannot afford to quarrel with my uncle. I shall hope to keep on good terms with his wife."
"Ah! you don't wish to quarrel with your bread and butter," she said in a tone of cool contempt. "Well, mon ami, what do you suppose I married your uncle for?"
"The world says that you married him for his money," said the handsome young man, coolly.
"Yes, that is what the world says," she answered, with flashing eyes, and cresting her graceful head as haughtily as a young stag. "But you, Howard Templeton, you know better than that."