There was no doubt that Victor Nevill spoke the truth, for once in his life; he loved Madge with a passion that dominated him, and he knew his own unworthiness. Stephen Foster paced the floor with a haggard face, with knitted brows.
"It is impossible," he said to himself. "I would rather see her married to some poor but honest clerk." He lighted a cigar and bit it savagely. "What if I refuse?" he added aloud.
A dangerous light flashed in Nevill's eyes.
"I won't give her up," he replied; and in the words there was a hidden menace which Stephen Foster understood.
"Give her up?" he echoed. "You have not won her yet."
"I know that, but I hope to succeed."
"What do you expect me to do?"
"All in your power. Give me a fair show."
"The girl shan't be bullied or browbeaten—I won't force her into such a step against her wishes. If she marries you, it will be of her own free will."
"That's fair enough. But I want an open field. You must keep other admirers away from the girl, and there isn't any time to lose about it. It may be too late now—"