"I hope there was nothing in them very--very amusing; it isn't nice to feel that strangers are reading one's--one's private letters."
"You rub it in."
"That's not my intention; would you like to feel that people you know nothing about were reading some of the letters you wrote to me?'
"I know what you mean; I'll find the letters and the envelope, and the suit-case; and if any one has opened that suit-case I'll--I'll make them smart."
"Good-bye."
Already she was moving off; he exclaimed--"Like that! Nora! won't you even give me your hand?"
She stopped, and turned; with something on her face which, in his eyes, made her very beautiful.
"If you'll promise only to take my hand."
"I promise; I'll take only what you're willing to give." They stood, for some seconds, hand in hand, eyes looking into eyes, as if they found it difficult to speak. Then he said, "Don't suppose I don't think you're right; I know you're doing this for me, and I know you're always right. This good-bye is only the prelude to a time of waiting, and hope, and work. First of all I'll find that envelope, then if there's nothing in it to show that you're a millionaire, I'm going to work and be a millionaire--I'll win you in my own way. I'm not afraid of waiting; you'll not marry any one but me."
"I don't think I shall."