“Where did you get your wide knowledge of women?” asked Cyril, with intense interest. Usk answered quite unsuspiciously—
“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know many, but I know Félicia.”
“And you won’t even attempt to dissuade her from pressing the claim?”
“I mean to tell her how anxious her father was that she should let things alone, but I can’t help it if she decides not to. It’s her own concern, and she has a right to judge for herself.”
It would have been well if Félicia had also been able to adopt this moderate view, and to concede to Usk the right of judging for himself. But she demanded not merely his passive permission, but his active approval, for all that she saw fit to do, and as he was not disposed to go a step beyond the line he had laid down, the relations between them became somewhat strained. The two lived in an atmosphere of argument. Even the low-toned conversations in the drawing-room at night were devoted to persistent efforts to make Usk confess that Félicia was in the right, and that her success was certain. He kept his temper admirably on the whole, but this led only to further attacks, for Félicia could not believe he was in earnest. She lost her temper somewhat frequently, but Usk understood that this was due to “nerves.”
“I guess I know why you’d like to have me let things slide,” she said angrily one morning on the terrace. “You’re thinking of the dollars.”
“The dollars! What dollars?” asked Usk.
“Mine, of course. Pappa’s pile, which was to procure me the honour of admission into your noble family.”
“Are you trying to see what I’m like when I’m ‘riz,’ as Hicks says?” asked Usk laughing. “Why, Fay, he would tell you that it was the thought of your dollars that frightened me more than anything—kept me back for ever so long.”
“Then what was it made you conclude to go ahead at last?”