"I did not love him, Aunt Arnold!"
"Love! Love!" sneered the widow contemptuously. "What had love to do with the matter? You, a poor, penniless, dependent creature, to prate of love when such a man as Colonel Carlyle lays his millions at your feet! You should have jumped at the chance and thanked him for his condescension!"
The listener regarded her with horror and amazement. Her delicate lips quivered with feeling, and her eyes were misty with unshed tears.
"Surely, Aunt Arnold," she said, questioningly, "you would not have had me accept Colonel Carlyle simply for his gold?"
"Yes, I would, though," answered Mrs. Arnold roughly, "and what is more, I intend that you shall accept him, Bonnibel Vere! Girl, you must have been mad to dream of refusing such a splendid offer. When Colonel Carlyle returns for his final answer you will tell him that your first refusal was only a girlish freak of coquetry, to try his love, and that you accept his offer gratefully."
Bonnibel's cheeks turned as white as her dress, a mist rose before her eyes, shutting out the sight of her aunt's angry face.
She staggered and put out her hand to steady herself by a chair. Mrs. Arnold regarded her with an air of cold insolence.
"I thought you would find it rather beyond your strength to stand before our conversation was over," she remarked, with slight sarcasm.
Bonnibel did not seem to hear the last shaft of malice. She answered the preceding words in a voice that she strove to render steady and controlled.
"I cannot recognize your right to dictate to me in a matter that concerns myself alone, madam."