“I understand,” he said, hoarsely, “you--you think I am no more than the dirt under your feet. You think, because I made my own way in the world, and haven’t got an old name or a title, that it’s an insult for me to ask you to be my wife! You wouldn’t treat Lord Bertie or--or that fellow Faradeane like this----” At Bertie’s name a smile flickered about her lips, but at Faradeane’s a wave of color swept over her face and neck. “Ah!” he said, with passionate anger. “That’s true, I can see. But let me tell you that I think myself as good as either of them. Stop”--for she had made another attempt to pass him--“as good, and better. Could either of them offer what I do? I’ve just told your father that I’d settle fifty thousand pounds upon you. I tell you now that that’s nothing to me; I didn’t make it more for fear of hurting his feelings; but I tell you I’ll settle a hundred, two hundred thousand----” She put out her hand. “Oh, hush!” she said, as if his words covered her with shame. “If it were a million----” “Oh, I know,” he broke in, huskily; “it’s as he said. You don’t care for money. It’s all the same to you whether a man’s poor or rich; but money’s something. Olivia----” “I am usually addressed as Miss Olivia Vanley,” said Olivia, flashing down upon him. He bit his lip. “I say it’s all the same to you; but it isn’t to him. No! And I’ll bet that before we part to-night you’ll consent, as he did.” She looked at him, calmly--questioningly. For a moment there arose in her mind the suspicion that he had been drinking, and he read it in her eyes. “No, I’m not drunk!” he said, bitterly; “I’m only half mad, driven so by your words and looks! And I mean what I say--you will consent, as he did!” “Consent to marry you!” said Olivia, stung into retort. “Yes,” he said, sullenly; “for his sake, if not for mine or yours.” “For his sake--for my father’s?” she said. He nodded. “Yes. Look here, Olivia, we’ve been beating about the bush long enough. You’ve treated me like a dog--yes, you have; or like the dirt under your feet. And I don’t deserve it. No, by God! for I spared the old man----” “You spared----” “Yes, I did. I could have told him what a cleft stick I’d got him in, but I didn’t; I knew you wouldn’t like it. I knew you’d rather he remained in ignorance till the affair was over.” “I’m afraid you are wasting your breath, Mr. Bradstone,” said Olivia. “I do not in the least comprehend you----” “But you will presently,” he said, with a half-cunning, half-furious smile. “Look here; your father, the squire, is, as he put it, a fraud----” She drew herself up, and sent a lightning shot from her eyes that made him quail. “Leave the room!” she exclaimed, pointing to the door.