"You mean money?" Keith asked, a little hoarsely.
"Why, not in the way in which you put it; but what money stands for--comforts, luxuries, position. Now, don't go and distress yourself about this. You are nothing but a silly boy. You fancy yourself in love with my daughter because she is the only pretty girl about here."
"She is not; but she is the prettiest I know," ejaculated Keith, bitterly.
"You think that, and so you fancy you are in love with her."
"It is no fancy; I am," asserted Keith, doggedly. "I would be in love with her if she were as ugly as--as she is beautiful."
"Oh, no, you wouldn't," declared Mrs. Yorke, coolly. "Now, the thing for you to do is to forget all about her, as she will in a short time forget all about you."
"I know she will, though I hope she will not," groaned the young man. "I shall never forget her--never."
His voice and manner showed such unfeigned anguish that the lady could not but feel real commiseration for him, especially as he appeared to be accepting her view of the case. She glanced at him almost kindly.
"Is there nothing I can do for you? I should like very much to do something--something to show my appreciation of what you have done for us to make our stay here less dreary than it would have been."
"Thank you. There is nothing," said Keith. "I am going to turn my attention now to--getting an establishment." He spoke half sarcastically, but Mrs. Yorke did not see it.