"Sweetheart, I have known Cleo all my life. I love her as a sister, for she is a noble woman; but I never have given and never could give her an iota of the idolatrous passion that has filled my heart for you. You have believed me before—trust me now. I live only in the hope of wiping out my shameful action of the past, and of winning you for my own. Are you satisfied?"
"But she cares for you, Roderic; your fair cousin!"
"You declare so—I can hardly believe it."
"But I know it—she would make a far better wife for you than might a poor daughter of Porto Rico," weakly, almost piteously.
"I am the judge of that, and I would snatch you to my heart against all the world."
"She has great wealth," watching him yearningly.
"I love only you, my darling."
"She is cultivated, refined, as you say a noble woman, while I am poor, with only my face and a worshiping heart to bring you."
"But I adore you—life without you would be a dreary waste," he steadfastly declared.
His simple argument convinced even the little skeptic.