She saw that he was very much in earnest, that he would do as he said, and, twisting her little hands together in an agony of indecision, she exclaimed:
“Do you know that in little more than an hour I am to leave here for the White Sulphur Springs? Miss Ives has already gone around to her friends who will accompany us. My husband will come home presently to drive with me to the depot.”
“And in the meantime your poor, dying sister is calling for you in vain. Pansy Laurens, you are utterly heartless!” exclaimed Mr. Finley, with a fine show of indignation.
She trembled perceptibly, and grew pale as a snowdrop under the glare of the gaslight.
“May her uneasy spirit haunt you, and drive repose from your breast!” he cried tragically.
Whirling toward him with a disdainful gesture of her white hand, she exclaimed:
“What if I went with you, simply to humor the fancy of this poor, dying girl—mind, I own to no relationship with her—what would be the price of your silence?”
Without moving a muscle, he answered coolly:
“A thousand dollars!”
“You are certainly rapacious! I could not give you such a sum to-night.”