Angela laughed. Were women of "her class," she thought, so easily won, and so unceremoniously wooed? Were there no preliminary advances, soft speeches, words of compliment and flattery?
"I've been laying out a plan," the professor went on, "for the most complete thing you ever saw! Never before attempted on any stage! Marvelous optical illusion. Hush—electricity!" [He said this in a stage whisper.] "You are to be a fairy. Stale old business, isn't it? But it always pays. Silk stockin's and gauze, with a wand. I'm Sinbad the Sailor, or Robinson Crusoe. It doesn't matter what; and then you——"
"Stay a moment, professor"—she laid her hand upon his arm—"you have not waited for my answer. I cannot, unfortunately, marry you; nor can I go about the country with you; nor can I possibly become your confederate and assistant."
"You can't marry me? Why not, when I offer you a fortune?"
"Not even for fortune."
"Why not?"
"Well, for many reasons. One of them is that I cannot leave my dressmaking—rubbish, as it seems to you. That is, indeed, a sufficient reason."
"Oh!"—his face becoming sad—"and I set my heart upon it! The very first time I saw you I said to myself, 'There's a girl for the business—never was such a girl!' And to think you're thrown away on a dressmaking business. Oh! it's too bad! and that you're contented with your lot, humble as it is, when I offer to make you an artist, and to give you a fortune. That's what cuts me to the quick—that you should be contented."
"I am very much ashamed of myself," said Angela, with contrition; "but, you see, what you ask is impossible."
"And I only made up my mind last night that I would marry you, if nothing else would do."