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The shaded lights, music in the distance, sweet perfumes from the costly
flowers about them--everything was just right for a proposal, and
Timkins decided to chance his luck. She was pretty, which was good, and
also, he believed, an heiress, which was better.
"Are you not afraid that someone will marry you for your money?" he
asked gently.
"Oh! dear, no," smiled the girl. "Such an idea never entered my head!"
"Ah! Miss Liscombe," he sighed, "in your sweet innocence you do not
dream how coldly, cruelly mercenary some men are!"
"Perhaps I don't," replied the girl calmly.
"I would not for a moment have such a terrible fate befall you," he said
passionately. "You are too good--too beautiful. The man who wins you
should love you for yourself alone."
"He'll have to," the girl remarked. "It's my cousin Jennie who has the
money--not I. You seem to have got us mixed. I haven't a penny myself."
"Oh--er!" stammered the young man, "what pleasant weather we are having,
aren't we?"
* * *
Next: The Gloomy Guest
Previous: A Bad Night
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