“Oh, I hope not, Uncle Geoffrey! We are not suited to each other. I have no love for you of the kind you mention.”
“Again I say,” he exclaimed, “do not be too abrupt. Let me cherish the hope that I may yet win you, for I have counted much on your companionship through life. As I said before, it is my dearest purpose. Besides, all considerations of policy or interest are in favor of it, and there is no doubt but that it was a wish of Colonel Conrad’s.”
“It might have been,” said Florence, meditatively, “but I do not believe he would have had me marry against my will; I am sure he would not. Would you?”
“N-n-no, Florence, but I would so guide your will that it might incline to me, and not leave me desolate. I would, by gentle persuasion, show the depth and strength of my love, and win yours in return. But I will not urge you to-night. I simply wish you to remember how I feel, and to think of me as kindly as possible.”
“I always think kindly of you,” she said, smiling.
“Yes, but no more of this to-night. I see you would prefer not to pursue the subject. I have been thinking about some plans for altering the house—that would make it more pleasant for you.”
“Altering the house?” said Florence, in surprise.
“Yes. The south parlor is small, and if the partition between it and the room on the west were taken away, it would make a fine large apartment.”
“The room on the west? Why, that was the study of Colonel Conrad!”
“Certainly—the room where he was killed. The associationsconnected with it are so awful, that the change would, I should think, be acceptable to you.”