"Mr. Hinsdale, you have no right to speak thus to me!"
She attempted to draw her hands from his grasp, but could not.
"No right!—well, perhaps I have not. Forgive me, Florence, and only remember that I love you."
He still held her hands and tried to look into her face, but she bent her head away from him.
"I love you, Florence, and I feel that I am entitled to a little more consideration than that letter shows, Florence, will you be my wife?"
A low but distinct "No," was the answer.
"Do you mean you do not love me?"
She made no answer, and he dropped or rather flung her hands from him and started to his feet.
"Strange, unfeeling! O fool, fool that I was! to build my happiness on such a crumbling base; to be caught in the net of a false woman's beauty, the smiles of a vain coquette!"