“And your respect for me has waned accordingly, I suppose you would be glad to add,” Louis Hamblin interposed, with a sneer.

Mona made him no answer.  She began to think that she had overestimated the purity of his motives—­that all her recent sympathy had been expended upon an unworthy object.

“You will not forget, however, that I made the promise to surrender certain proofs and keepsakes conditional upon your yielding to my suit,” he added, with cold resoluteness.

“No honorable man would make such conditions with the woman he professed to love,” retorted Mona, with curling lips.

“A man, when he is desperate, will adopt almost any measure to achieve his object,” her companion responded, hotly.

“We will not argue the matter further, if you please,” Mona said, frigidly, as she took up her book, which she had laid upon the table when she arose, and started to leave the room.

“Mona, do not go away like this—­you shall not leave me in such a mood!” the young man cried, as he placed himself in her path.  “Do you not see that I am filled with despair—­that I am desperate?”

“I am sorry,” she answered, gravely, “but I can tell you nothing different—­my answer is final, and your own sense of what is right should make you realize and submit to it.”

“Then you do not care for the marriage certificate and other proofs?” he said.

Again the young girl’s lips curled with infinite scorn.

“Did you suppose that my love and my hand were, like articles of merchandise, to be bought and sold?” she asked, with scathing sarcasm.  “Yes, I do care for—­I do want the proofs; but they are not to be mentioned in connection with such sacred subjects,” she went on, with dignity.  “If you were really my friend you would never have suggested anything of the kind; you would have been glad to help me to any proof that would relieve my mind and heart from the harassing doubts regarding the history of my parents.  If such proofs exist, as you claim, they rightly belong to me, and you are uncourteous, not to say dishonorable, in keeping them from me.”

“People are not in the habit of resigning important documents simply for the sake of preserving themselves from the charge of discourtesy,” Louis laconically observed.

“I am to understand from that, I suppose, that you will not give them to me,” Mona remarked.  “Well, since I know that there was no blame or shame attached to my mother—­since I know that she was only a victim to the wickedness of others—­it will not matter so very much if I do not have the tangible proofs you possess, and I must try to be content without them.”

She made another attempt to leave the room, but he still stood in her way.

“I cannot—­I will not give you up,” he said, between his tightly locked teeth.

“You will be kind enough to let me pass, Mr. Hamblin.”  Mona returned, and ignoring his excited assertion.