CHAPTER XVIII.
MORE SACRIFICES.
“I met your old sweetheart to-day,” said a young friend to Rufus Albertson.
“Ah! who was she?”
“Miss Townsend.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes; she looked badly; poor thing! Her proud old father would not say much to the contrary if you were to renew your acquaintance in that quarter. I think you were lucky.”
“Do you?”
“Yes; I don’t believe he is worth a copper.”
“You are mistaken; he is rich.”
“Rich!”