"About the proposal I made to your father?" with a smile.
"The same."
"You mean to accept it?" speaking joyfully, and pressing his arm tenderly.
"Oh, no, no," cried Gilbert, shrinking from the caress, "quite the reverse. I decline it at once, and for ever; and I beg, Nancy, that you will never broach the subject to me, or to father, again. Old folks don't see with our eyes, or feel as we feel; they always forget when they were young themselves. The spring and summer of life is gone with them, and the autumn with its golden fruit is all they care about, and wish us to procure at any cost. What does a young fellow want with money, while he is full of health and warm blood, and has enough to enjoy himself?"
"But why should you refuse a good offer?" said Miss Watling, only half comprehending the meaning of Gilbert's roundabout way of introducing a disagreeable subject.
"Simply, because it is not a good one for me. I don't like it, and will have none of it. I am happy where I am, and don't want to change my situation." He stopped suddenly, and took Miss Watling's hand. "Will you be my friend, Nancy?"
"Can you doubt it, Gilbert?"
"Well, then, I love Dorothy Chance."
Miss Watling dropped her hand, as if it had come in contact with a hot coal.
"Love—Dorothy—Chance!" and the hard mouth writhed convulsively. Gilbert's eyes were bent upon the ground; he did not see the twitching of the malignant face; and was not even conscious that she had withdrawn the black kidded hand from his own—or the conversation would have come to a sudden stop.