“You will continue to live here at Elm Grove?”
“I suppose so. The place is dear to me. About it are associated all the pleasant remembrances of my life. Yes, I shall remain here.”
“Pleasant memories do indeed cluster around it, Florence—pleasant to me, as well as to you. I loved my uncle, and shall always revere his memory. But this is not all. It is in this house that I have met and known one who has answered my ideal of all that is pure and lovely, who has won me often from busy care, and filled my soul with higher aspirations. Need I say that it is yourself, dear Florence, of whom I am speaking?”
“You compliment me undeservedly, Uncle Geoffrey,” said Florence, with a pained, confused look. It was her habit to call him uncle, though he was in fact not related to her. “Yet I ought to be gratified in having won your good opinion.”
“Good opinion!” he repeated. “It is more than that, far more. My uncle had plans which are not mentioned in his will, Florence—plans which are very near my own heart. Their fulfillment is dearer to me than all other earthly objects. The estate, you know, is divided between us, but it may be kept intact, as Colonel Conrad left it, by the carrying out of what I have alluded to. You must know what I am speaking of.”
Florence bowed her head, but made no reply.
“But do not think,” he continued, “that it is solely on account of my uncle’s wishes, or owing to any considerations concerning the property, that I press the subject, for I love you, Florence, with all the strength of my soul, and I am going to ask you to become my wife.”
“Uncle Geoffrey,” said Florence, turning to him calmly, “I esteem you, I appreciate your friendship and all your kindnesses. I am aware that the dearest friend I ever had, he who was a father to me, held you in high regard and implicit confidence. But I have not that feeling toward you that a wife should have—I do not wish to marry you.”
There were simplicity and earnestness in her tone and manner that cut keenly into the schemer’s soul. But he was as sedate and unruffled as ever, save a slight manifestation of fervor as befitted the occasion.
“I beg that you will not answer in that way, Florence,” he said. “If you cannot say yes to-night, take time to consider the matter. If your heart does not warm toward me now, at least give me time to prove my love and earnestness. I have long had an interest in you. My regard has scarcely been second to that of Colonel Conrad. Your welfare has been my desire; all my plans seem inseparably bound up in your happiness and interests.”