"I am sorry for that," she says, audaciously; "I had hoped you would like my looks, for I must tell you frankly, that the reward I claim is to share your good fortune _in toto_ as your wife." He stares at her, growing pale in his angry amazement. "There will be a kind of poetic compensation in such a marriage," Mrs. Cleveland pursues, coolly enjoying his rage. "I loved Lawrence Campbell, but my half-sister stole his heart from me. By rights I should have been his wife, and in course of time, Countess of Fairvale. No reward will satisfy me except to step into Vera Campbell's place and reign absolute sovereign where she has queened it so long. You see I do not offer to take away anything from you, only to share it with you." "But, Mrs. Cleveland--madam--I have already explained to you that I am prejudiced against women. I do not wish to marry," protests the old bachelor, finding voice after his first surprise. "So you reject me?" she inquires, with an air of chagrin. "Yes, decidedly yes," he returns, nervously. "Be pleased to name some other reward." "I have already explained to you that nothing will satisfy me except to be Countess of Fairvale. I wish to ride rough shod over Vera Campbell's heart, and in no other way could I be revenged so well as in taking her own place. Since you deny me this small grace I decline to help you to the earldom, and all that we have said about it goes for nothing," returns the widow, with the utmost frankness. Anger almost gets the better of Mr. Gilmore for a moment, but crushing back the words upon his lips, he looks steadily at the speaker in blank silence. "You do not find me very bad-looking, do you?" she inquires, with an air of unruffled good nature. "On the contrary, I think you decidedly handsome and well-preserved. I never expected to be courted by so fine-looking a woman. Do you consider me handsome, madam?" "Not at all. You are abominably ugly," she replies, after a calm scrutiny of his face. "If I marry you, it will not be for any personal merit you possess, only as a stepping-stone to power." "You are very candid, but since you have the balance of power in your hands, you can afford to speak freely. Madam, I offer you my heart, hand and fortune. Will you accept them?" he exclaims, in grim displeasure. "Are you in earnest?" she inquires. "Never more so. You have left me no alternative," he answers, bitterly. "But I warn you, I shall not make a very loving husband." "Nor I a loving wife. But I accept you as I said just now, as a stepping-stone to power," she replies, with provoking coolness. He rises to depart. "It is settled, then," he observes, with forced complaisance. "You will help me to the earldom, and I will pay you by making you my bride. When shall the wedding be?" "On the day when you take possession of Fairvale's title and estates," she answers, promptly. "_Au revoir_, my charming bridegroom." CHAPTER XXXVIII.