"Ask it."
"Am I—am I as rich as any girl you would be likely to marry?"
"What an odd question! Do you think I want money?"
"I know you don't!" she said, with a wail. "That's what's so horrid! Why can't you all leave me alone?"
Then recovering herself fiercely, she began again:
"In my country—in Italy—when two people are about equally rich—a man and a girl—their relations go and talk to each other. They say, 'Will it suit you?'—the man has so much—the girl has so much—they like each other—and—wouldn't it do very well!"
She sprang up. Tatham had flushed. He looked at her in speechless amazement. She stood opposite him, making herself as tall as she could, her hands behind her.
"Lord Tatham—my mother is ill—my father is dead. You're not my guardian yet—and I don't think I'll ever let you be! So there's nobody but me to do it. I'm sorry—I know it's not quite right, quite—quite English. Well, any way! Lord Tatham, you say I have a dot! So that's all right. There's my hand. Will you marry me?"
She held it out. All her excitement had gone, and her colour. She was very pale, and quite calm.
"My dear Felicia!" cried Tatham, in agitation, taking the hand, "what a position to put your guardian in! You are a great heiress. I can't run off with you like this—before you've had any other chances—before you've seen anybody else."