"I hardly expected it so soon, although I knew it would come in time," said the old woman, with a swallow of satisfaction. "Sit down. And don't be an idiot. You will now listen to _me_. Mr. Dexter is a rich man; he is what is called a rising man (if any one wants to rise); he is a good enough man also, as men go. He has no claim as regards family; neither have you. He is a thorough and undiluted American; so are you. He will be a kind husband, and one far higher in the world than you had any right to expect. On the other hand, you will do very well as his wife, for you have fair ability and a pretty face (it is of course your pink and white beauty that has won him), and principles enough for both. Like all people who have made money rapidly, he is lavish, and will deny you nothing; he will even allow you, I presume, to help one and all of that colony of children, priests, old maids, and dogs, up on that island. See what power will be put into your hands! You might labor all your life, and not accomplish one-hundredth part of that which, as Gregory Dexter's wife, you could do in one day. "As to your probable objection--the boy-and-girl engagement in which you were foolish enough to entangle yourself--I will simply say, leave it to time; it will break itself. How do you know that it is not, in fact, broken already? The Pronando blood is faithless in its very essence," added the old woman, bitterly. "Mr. Dexter is a man of the world. I will explain it to him myself; he will understand, and will not urge you at present. He will wait, as I shall, for the natural solution of time. But in the mean while you must not offend him; he is not at all a man whom a woman can offend with impunity. He is vain, and has a singularly mistaken idea of his own importance. Agree to what I propose--which is simple quiescence for the present--and you shall go back to Moreau's, and the allowance for the children shall be continued. I have never before in my life made so many concessions; it is because you have had at times lately a look that brings back--Alida." Anne's lips trembled; a sudden weakness came over her at this allusion to her mother. "Well?" said Miss Vanhorn, expectantly. There was a pause. Then a girl's voice answered: "I can not, grandaunt. I must go." "You _may_ go, I tell you, back to Moreau's on the 1st of October." "I mean that I can not marry Mr. Dexter." "No one asks you to marry him now." "I can never marry him." "Why?" said Miss Vanhorn, with rising color. "Be careful what you say. No lies." "I--I am engaged to Rast." "Lie number one. Look at me. If your engagement was ended, _then_ would you marry Mr. Dexter?" Anne half rose, as if to escape, but sank back again. "I could not marry him, because I do not love him," she answered.