Pray, let me see the face of our modern Knight of
Romance."
Old Sally had hobbled from the room and they stood alone, half the width
of the apartment between them.
"Hard words, my pretty one! You forget it was all for love of you.
I didn't want to see you the wife of an old dotard you didn't care
a fillip for."
"So, to mend matters, you've made me the wife of a scoundrel. I must
forever hate and despise--yourself."
"Not so, Mollie! I mean you to be very fond of me one of these days. I
don't see why you shouldn't. I'm young; I'm well off; I'm clever; I'm
not bad-looking. There's no reason why you shouldn't be very fond of me,
indeed. Love begets love, they say, and I love you to madness."
"So it appears. A lunatic asylum would be the fitter place for you, if
you must escape state prison. Are we to stand here and bandy words all
night? Show me who you are and go."
The man laid his hand on his hat.
"Have you no suspicions, Mollie? Can't you meet me half-way--can't you
guess?"
"I don't want to guess."
She spoke defiantly; but her heart was going in great, suffocating
plunges against her side, now that the supreme moment had come.
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