"With me!" she echoed, blankly.
"You are the daughter of a wealthy, high-born, noble gentleman, who would be delighted to claim you if he knew that you lived, and who would rejoice to clasp your mother to his devoted heart," said Mr. Revington, watching her closely as he uttered the words. Her eyes beamed, her face glowed with joy; then suddenly a shadow fell on its brightness.
"You are deceiving me?" she said.
"No, I swear that I am not," he asseverated. "I can prove what I say, and I am ready to do so—on one condition!"
"And that?" she asked, innocently.
His shifting gaze fell before that eager, hopeful, unconscious look, but he answered, boldly:
"That you be my wife, Irene."
"I have told you that was impossible," she answered, growing suddenly pale to the lips.
"Why?" he inquired, chagrined at the prompt reply.
"I do not love you," she replied, evasively.