“What! You don’t know?” cried Oakleigh, feigning great surprise. “But you do know. You can not help knowing. I tell you—”
“Stop!” commanded the young lady, holding up her hand. “Let us not dispute. Your grandfather knows if my father ever expressed any desire of that kind. Let him decide between us.”
“Look ye, Cordelia!” Matthew exclaimed, with the flame of anger in his sunken eyes, “do you mean to throw me over now? After all these years of patient waiting, do you fancy that I am to be cast aside, like a worn-out boot? By the Host! you’ll find it a sorry work to do.”
“Lord Oakleigh!” said the proud girl starting to her feet, her face flushed and her eyes burning with deep indignant fire, “you have no authority—no right—for speaking to me in that manner. Let me tell you, once for all, I never had, I have not now, nor can I ever have a thought of becoming your wife. Let me hope that you will never broach the subject again.”
“My dear lady,” returned the suitor, attempting a sneer, his hot wrath simmering beneath, “you talk foolishly. Do you fancy I shall give up the cherished hope and plan of a lifetime to suit a whim of yours? I tell you, before your father left India he conversed with my father on this subject, and it was arranged between them that you and I should be married. Why do you suppose I have held my tongue so long? I’ll tell you. Simply because I regarded the whole thing as settled.”
“Have you said all you had to say, my lord?” the girl asked as calmly as possible.
“That depends upon how you take what I have said. What I had to say was this: Our marriage will take place before the present year is at an end.”
“I would like to have you tell me what you think of it?”
“I have said all that I have to say on that subject, Lord Oakleigh. If you did not understand me, I beg that you will understand me now. I shall never be your wife.”