“In any such way as what?” he asked, with a sneer.
“You know what I mean well enough—the warmer sentiment of which I have already spoken,” she answered, with a rush of tears to her eyes at his unkind tone. She struggled a moment for self-control, and then continued:
“I admire Mr. Tressalia exceedingly; he is a man who must command any woman’s respect and esteem; he is cultivated and refined, and possesses one of the kindest, most generous natures, but——”
“But you don’t want to marry him, is that it?” he interrupted.
“No, sir, I do not,” she said, very firmly, but with another rush of color to the beautiful face.
Mr. Dalton’s face grew dark, and he twitched nervously in his chair.
“I am sure I cannot conceive what possible objection you can have to him as a husband; he is handsome as a king, polished, distinguished in his profession, and rich enough to surround you with every elegance the world can afford.”
“I have already told you my sole objection—I do not love him,” the fair girl said, wearily.
“Pshaw! I am sure he is fitted to command the love of any woman.”
“Yes, sir; he is very noble, very good, very attractive; and I cannot tell you why I do not, but simply that I do not.”