"Oh, pshaw! Nothing of the kind. She's of age—she loves me—and we are going to be married! The only thing I'm afraid of is that the old bachelor who owns the place where she is now might want to marry her, and she is so sweet and obliging, her father might coax her into marriage with this man Villard," explained Parkins.
"Villard! Is that his place?" asked the nurse, sharply as she again looked out upon the beautiful home.
"Yes, it's worth a couple of millions, including the land and beach property," replied the patient.
"Why, he was the man over here last night, was he not?"
"That was Drury Villard. You saw how friendly he was with me, and how concerned he was about my condition, and everything."
"Yes, indeed, a fine looking man—but too old for that sweet little girl," said the nurse, shaking her head in deprecation of even the thought of such a match. "He may be a nice man, and all that, and seems kindly, but an old man's love is no love at all, so I'm going to help the girl to escape such a fate," she concluded, shaking her head as she meant it.
"And if you do, I'll give you one thousand dollars in cash!" whispered Parkins, as the nurse looked into his eyes.
They held true, disclosing not the least appearance of deceit. Whereupon Mrs. Duke nodded her head affirmatively.
"I'll do it," she said, "and if you don't mind, I am going out for a little fresh air"—all of which was accompanied by a knowing smile—the smile of a skillful accomplice.
To Mrs. Duke a millionaire was a living crime. Want, perpetually barking at her heels, gave her no charity of feeling toward the rich man—his kith or his kin. She likened such men to a huge net stretched across the river of life to which human souls were drawn unerringly by man-made currents, until caught in the meshes and held in despair. Naught but death could come to their rescue.