"For the matter of that," says she, throwing up her beautiful head, "there are things I remember too! You--you dare to come here and accuse _me_ of falsity when I have watched you all day making steady court to that wretched little plebeian, playing tennis with her all the day long, and far into the evening! No! I may have said half a dozen words to Lord Dunkerton, but you--how many half-dozen words have you said to Miss Bolton? Come, answer me that, as we seem bent on riddles." "All this is as nothing," says Rylton. "You know, as well as I do, that Miss Bolton has not a thought of mine! I want only one thing, the assurance that you love me, and I put it at marriage. Will you link your fate with mine, low down though it is at present? If you will, Marian"--he comes closer to her and lays his hands upon her shoulders, and gazes at her with eyes full filled with honest love--"I shall work for you to the last day of my life. If you will not----" He pauses--he looks at her--he waits. But no answer comes from her. "Marian, take courage," says he softly--very softly. "My darling, is money everything?" She suddenly leans back from him, and looks fair in his eyes. "It is, it is," says she hoarsely. "I _can't_ again go through what I suffered before. Wait, _do_ wait--something--something will happen----" "You refuse me?" says he, in a lifeless tone. "Not that. Don't speak like that. Don't leave me, Maurice." "It is our last hour," says he deliberately. "Be sure of that. If money is so much to you--if money counts so far beyond all that a man can give you of his heart and soul--then take it." "And you," says she, "are you not seeking money, too? This girl, this little _fool;_ your mother has led you to think of her. You will marry her!" "I will marry you," says he coldly, "if you will marry me." "I have told you that it is impossible"--she draws a deep breath--"at present." "You will not trust me, then, to make a fortune for you?" "A fortune! It takes so _long_ to make; and," smiling, and drawing nearer to him, and suddenly flinging her arms around his neck, "are we not happy as we are?" "No." He loosens her arms lightly, and, still holding them, looks at her. How fair she is, how desirable! "Marian," says he hoarsely, "think! It is indeed my last word. Will you trust yourself to me as things are, or will you reject me? Marian, say you will marry me as I now am--poor, ruined." He holds her, gazing at her despairingly. She would have spoken, perhaps, but no words come to her; no words to soften her grim determination. She _will_ not marry him poor--and yet she loves him. Rylton, with a stifled oath, pushes her from him. "This is the end," says he. He goes to the door. "Maurice!" says she faintly. He turns. "Well, will you marry me to-morrow?" asks he mockingly. "No. But----" "There is no time for 'buts,'" says he. He opens the door and closes it sharply behind him.