urned his head to
meet her gaze.
"You must tell me, please," she said. "I insist upon knowing."
"Your stepmother," he said, "was perfectly reasonable and very candid.
She reminded me that you were a great heiress, and that as yet you had
seen nothing of the world. I do not know why she thought it necessary
to point this out to me, except that perhaps she thought that in some
mad moment I might have conceived the idea that you--"
"That I?" she repeated softly, as he hesitated.
He set his teeth hard and frowned.
"You know what I mean," he said coldly. "Your stepmother is a clever
woman, and a woman of the world. She takes into account all
contingencies, never mind how improbable they might be. She was afraid
that I might think things were possible between us which after all must
always remain outside serious consideration. She wanted to warn me.
That was all. It was kindness, but I am sure that it was unnecessary."
"You are not very lucid," she murmured. "It is because I am a great
heiress, then, that you go off fishing for three weeks without saying
good-bye; that you leave our next meeting to happen by chance in the
last place I should have expected to see you? What do you think of me,
Mr. Andrew? Do you imagine that I am of my stepmother's world, or ever
could be? Have the hours we have spent together taught you nothing
different?"
"You are a child," he answered evasively. "You do not know as yet to
what world you will belong. It is as your stepmother said to me. With
your fortune you may marry into one of the great families of Europe.
You might almost take a part in the world's history. It is not for such
as myself to dream of interfering with a destiny such as yours may be."
"For that reason," she remarked, leaning a little towards him, "you
went fishing in a dirty little boat with those common sailors for three
weeks. For that reason you bow to me when you meet me as though I were
an acquaintance whom you barely remembered. For that reason, I suppose,
you were hurrying away when your brother found you."
"It was the inevitable thing to do," he answered. "You may think to-day
one thing, but it is for others who are older and wiser than you to
remember that you are only a child, and that you have not realized yet
the place you fill in the world. If it pleases you to know it, let me
tell you that I am very glad indeed that you came to Salthouse. You
have made me think more seriously. You have made me
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