"Very much! I cannot tell you how much." He tried to recapture her hand, but she eluded him. Again she asked a question:
"Money is not an object to you, in this?"
"Miss Remsen, you insult me."
"No, no!" she said quickly, "you misunderstand. I did not mean my money. I can't explain, yet you must answer my question. Would you mind if—oh, how shall I say it? Suppose I did something that cost you a lot of money——"
"Oh! I see," exclaimed Mr. Randolph, brightening up. "You mean you are extravagant. Don't let that bother you a minute. You may cost me as much money as you can possibly spend. I will never complain."
She seemed much relieved, but she did not speak at once. Her eyes wandered away from him, and following her gaze he saw them reach and rest upon Mr. Thauret. A jealous pang darted through his heart. He was about to speak when she turned to him and said with suppressed emotion:
"I hope you will not be angry with me, and that you will not think evil of me. There is something I cannot explain, yet which, if I could, you would not object to. But until I can tell you about it—I cannot—I cannot—give you an answer. Would you—would you be willing to wait?" There was a tone of entreaty in her voice.
"How long?" asked Mr. Randolph, still irritated, and wondering if the something which she could not tell was in any way connected with Mr. Thauret.
"Would you mind—if I asked you to wait till—well, say the New Year?"
"That is a long time, but if it is your will, I must."