"Yes," she remarks, with a cool, self-possessed bow.
"I should be glad to know the amount of the sum that will compensate your aid," Mr. Gilmore pursues, as eagerly as if he already held the vast wealth of Fairvale within his close, penurious grasp.
A slight, mocking smile glances over the wily widow's handsome, well-preserved face.
"You are a bachelor, I have heard," she answers, in a significant tone.
"Yes; I have never liked women well enough to tie myself to one," Mr. Gilmore retorts, with grim frankness.
The widow tosses her head.
"I am sorry for that," she says, audaciously; "I had hoped you would like my looks, for I must tell you frankly, that the reward I claim is to share your good fortune in toto as your wife."
He stares at her, growing pale in his angry amazement.
"There will be a kind of poetic compensation in such a marriage," Mrs. Cleveland pursues, coolly enjoying his rage. "I loved Lawrence Campbell, but my half-sister stole his heart from me. By rights I should have been his wife, and in course of time, Countess of Fairvale. No reward will satisfy me except to step into Vera Campbell's place and reign absolute sovereign where she has queened it so long. You see I do not offer to take away anything from you, only to share it with you."
"But, Mrs. Cleveland—madam—I have already explained to you that I am prejudiced against women. I do not wish to marry," protests the old bachelor, finding voice after his first surprise.