"That is to say, you want the whole of it."
"Charming woman! don't, pray, compel me to talk in this language of traffic. It is you I desire,—not the estate. If there is enough to make you more comfortable than would be possible with my means, I shall be happy for your sake."
Her lips writhed and her eyes shot fire. Should she breathe the scorn she felt, and brave the worst? Or should she temporize? Time might bring about a change, when she could safely send the mercenary suitor back to his dusty and cobwebbed office.
"We do understand each other," she said, slowly. "This is a matter to think of. I had never thought to marry again, and I cannot answer your delicate proposal now. Let me have a week to consider."
"Couldn't we arrange the matter just as well now? I beg your pardon,
Ma'am, if I seem too bold."
"Oh, your youthful ardor and impetuosity! To be sure, one must forgive the impatience of a lover in his first passion! But you must wait, nevertheless."
Mr. Clamp laughed. It was a good joke, he thought.
"I must bid you good afternoon, Squire Clamp. I have made my headache worse by talking on a subject I was not prepared for."
So Mr. Clamp was bowed out. He did not clearly understand her quick and subtle movements, but he felt sure of his game in the end. The scornful irony that had played about him like electricity he had not felt.
When he was gone, the woman's worst enemy would have pitied her distress. She believed more than ever that Clamp had used Lucy to abstract her papers, and that he now would hold his power over her to bring about the hated marriage. Her firmness gave way; she sank on the sofa and wept like a child. Would that she might yet retreat! But no, the way is closed up behind her. She must go on to her destiny.