"
"Affection! So cold a word, when I love you."
"To the extent of one thousand pounds."
"Lucy, you are a--woman. That money did not buy your love, but
the consent of your step-father to our marriage. Had I not
humored his whim, he would have insisted upon your marrying
Random."
Lucy pouted again and in scorn.
"As if I ever would," said she.
"Well, I don't know. Random is a soldier and a baronet; handsome
and agreeable, with a certain amount of talent. What objection
can you find to such a match?"
"One insuperable objection; he isn't you, Archie--darling."
"H'm, the adjective appears to be an afterthought," grumbled the
bachelor; then, when she merely laughed teasingly after the
manner of women, he added moodily:
"No, by Jove, Random isn't me, by any manner of means. I am but
a poor artist without fame or position, struggling on three
hundred a year for a grudging recognition."
"Quite enough for one, you greedy creature."
"And for two?" he inquired softly.
"More than enough."
"Oh, nonsense, nonsense, nonsense!"
"What! when I am engaged to you? Actions speak much louder than
remarks, Mr. Archibald Hope. I love you more than I do money."
"Angel! angel!"
"You said that I was a woman just now.
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