But, somehow, Penelope had more attraction for him than any girl he had ever met. Her very obstinacy, her independence, made her all the more charming to him, even if it was provoking.
Penelope Howard was in no wise Dick Treadwell’s mate in beauty.
She was slender to boniness and tall, but willowy and graceful, and one forgot her murky complexion when gazing into the depths of her bright, expressive eyes and catching the curve of a wonderfully winsome smile.
Penelope was an heiress, though, to a million dollars or more, and so no one ever called her plain.
She was an orphan and had been reared by a sensible old aunt, who would doubtless leave her another million.
Penelope knew her defects as well and better than did other people. She had no vanity and was blessed with an unusual amount of solid sense.
Penelope Howard was well aware that she would not have to go begging for a husband, but she had loved handsome Dick Treadwell ever since the year before she graduated at Vassar. He had gone there to pay his devotions to another fair under-graduate and came away head over heels in love with Penelope. Nevertheless Penelope was in no hurry to marry.
She loved Richard with all her heart, but there was a barrier between them which he alone could remove.
“You know, Dick,” she said, softly, as he still gazed across the green lawn, trying to find a mental foothold, as it were, “that I told you this before”——
“Yes, this makes the sixth time I have proposed,” he said, savagely, still looking away.