“Yes; I have thought of that,” she said, musingly.

“There seems to me but one straightforward, high-toned thing for you to do, Stella, and that is to follow your heart.”

He was almost frightened at himself that he spoke with so little eagerness and longing.  His words seemed but the honorable and logical sequence of what had gone before.  For some reason this girl in the broad light of day did not appear to be the same as when she had fascinated him in the witching moonlight the evening before.  It was not that her beauty had gone with the glamour of the night, but he had been breathing a different and a purer atmosphere.  Madge had been revealing what to him seemed ideal womanhood.

In regard to Stella his illusion had so far passed that he thought, consciously, “Even at her best she is presenting Wildmere traits; her very self-sacrifice takes on a Wildmere form, and there is a flavor of Wall Street in it all.”

But he still believed that he loved her, and that, if she was equal to such great though mistaken self-sacrifice for her father, she would, under his influence, throw off certain imperfections and gain a better tone.

That such thoughts were passing through his mind was a bad omen for the continuance of Miss Wildmere’s power, and yet the opportunity of her life was still hers.  She had simply to put her hand into his with a look of trust, and abide by the act, to secure a loyalty that would always have tried to promote her best interests.  That she was strongly tempted to do this was proved by her manner, in spite of the fact that she had promised Arnault not to decide against him before Saturday.

It was a moment of indecision.  His strong assurance that he was abundantly able to take care of her, that Mr. Muir was wealthy and free from financial embarrassment, almost turned the scale.  She felt that both Arnault and her father were deceiving her for their own purposes, and she had little hesitation in acting for herself without regard to them.  Graydon’s suggestion that her action was not high-toned, although delicately made, touched her pride to the quick, and she was compelled to feel during this interview, as never before, the superiority of the man who addressed her.  She longed to force Henry Muir to acknowledge the daughter of the man he shunned in business; and not the least among her incentives was the thought of triumphing over Madge as a possible rival.

“At any rate,” she had thought, “if I become engaged to Graydon he will have to be very much less fraternal.  As to his not aiding papa,” she concluded, “I can’t help that.  When once married I could make him do all he could afford, and papa and mamma have no right to expect anything more.”

To the potency of all these considerations was added a sentiment for the man who awaited her answer, and who chafed inwardly that it was so long in coming.

“Truly,” he thought, “this is a strange wooing.  Henry himself could not more carefully weigh the pros and cons than does she apparently, nor am I in feverish suspense.  I had hoped for something different in my mating.”