“Because, as I told you, it is absolutely necessary that the woman I marry should have plenty of money and an established position in the world,” he said, flushing beneath her look. Marion smiled that strange smile again. “Then, if I could bring you plenty of money, and assure of my undisputed right to a good position in society, you would perhaps do me the honor to make me your wife?” “Yes—I suppose I might,” he replied, hesitatingly. “And you will _not_ do that act of justice to save the woman you have professed to love ‘better than your own life’ from the shame and disgrace that must surely come upon her without?” “I cannot; I——” “_What_ hinders you?” she interrupted, with an imperative gesture. His face assumed a dogged expression. “The determination to be _rich_ and move in the highest circles,” he said, his tone assuming something of defiance. “Then you are not _rich_ now—you do not rightly belong to the high sphere that is accredited to you—you are only a poor, miserable fortune-hunter after all—a sham and impostor!” she cried, with biting sarcasm and indignation. He flushed even more hotly than before; his gaze wavered and fell beneath the scorn in her eye, and he stood revealed in his real character before her. “You cannot, therefore, be hampered with a poor wife; she would be a miserable clog upon your laudable ambition. Love, pure and holy though it might be, weighs as nothing compared with the treasures you seek,” she went on, until, goaded to desperation by her scorn, he turned upon her with a snarl. “You have learned the truth at last—what more do you want?” “I want to know, George Sumner—and I charge you speak the truth—did you _ever_ love me as _I_ understand the word? Is there anything of that feeling still in your heart for me? Is there a particle of feeling in your heart that would prompt you to sacrifice a single interest to save me from my impending ruin? Do not dare to speak falsely—tell me, have you any love for me?” she concluded, with a solemnity that made his flesh creep, bold and bad as he was. With his eyes fixed upon the carpet, as though they had been weighted and held there, he answered: “No; I do not love you, Marion.” “Is there one in all the world whom you do love thus?” “Not one,” he said. “Not even among the ‘dozen’ with whom you have flirted?” she said, with a hard laugh. He cringed uneasily. He was showing himself up in a way that was not at all agreeable to him.