“Mr. Fillmore,” she said, “it is useless for you to go on. Stop! I am to be the wife of Frank Merriwell. I am engaged to him, and we are to be married very soon.” “I hope not!” he cried. “I hope I’ll never live to see that! You can break the engagement with him.” “You must be deranged to think I would do such a thing. My poor boy, don’t deceive yourself. I love Frank Merriwell, and I do not care for you.” “Don’t call me ‘poor boy!’” he panted. “That hurts! I’ve been pitying myself until I realized I was a fool and that the only thing for me to do was win you from him. That I will do, somehow! I must, for I am one who has his way. You don’t know the blood of the Fillmores. My father before me was a man who always had his own way. He started out a poor boy, but he resolved to be rich, and he became rich. All his life when he wanted a thing he found a way to obtain it. All my life I have been the same. I want you, and I’m going to have you! Heaven and earth shall not prevent me!” Inza knew he was in a dangerous mood, but she was not one to hurt a person’s feelings needlessly. The fact that she had aroused in his breast such a passion was enough to cause her to treat him as kindly as possible. A short time before she had been full of scorn, but now she repressed this and held it in check. “Let me reason with you,” she said. “You must understand the absolute hopelessness of your love, as you call it. Perhaps it is not love at all. It must be infatuation. In a little while you will forget me, or, if you remember, you will be thankful that you did not succeed.” “Never!” “Oh, yes, you will! You are too young to marry. You have not yet made a start in the business world. I am older than you. You should not marry for some years to come, and then you should choose a wife some years younger than yourself.” “That’s all rot! There’s not much difference in our ages—not enough to raise the slightest barrier between us. Even if you were old enough to be my mother, I’d love you just the same!” She could not refrain from smiling a bit at this, for it struck her as ridiculous. “Don’t laugh at me!” he exclaimed. “I’m no boy! I’m twenty-one!” “Gracious! You’ll soon be growing decrepit and senile.” “Don’t laugh at me!” he repeated. “It hurts!” “I don’t want to hurt you, but I want to make you understand. What you wish can never be.” “If Merriwell were out of the way——” “Even then it could never be, for I do not love you.” “You might—you might in time! I’d make you love me! I’d find a way!” “You could not. You can’t make a girl love you by commanding it. You’ll simply succeed in causing her to fly from you.” “If you fly from me, even as Apollo pursued Daphne will I pursue you.” “Have you forgotten what happened when at last Apollo overtook Daphne? He did not succeed in his desires, for she was changed into a laurel tree, and his reward was bitter disappointment.”