He understood her fence perfectly, and was aware that the absence of a mercenary spirit on her part made his suit appear almost ridiculous.  If her clear young eyes would not see him through a golden halo, but only as a man and a possible mate, what could he be to her?  Even gold-fed egotism could not blind him to the truth that she was looking at him, and that the thought of bartering herself for a little more of what she had to her heart’s content already was not even considered.  There was distressing keenness in the suggestion that, not wanting the extraneous things he offered, no motive was left.  He was scarcely capable of suspecting her indignation that he should deem her capable of sacrificing her fair young girlhood for greater wealth and luxury, even had she coveted them,—­an indignation enhanced by her new impulses.  The triumphs, happiness, and power which she now was bent on achieving could never be won under the dense shade of his opulent selfishness.  He embodied all that was inimical to her hopes and plans, all that was opposed to the motives and inspiration received from her father, and she looked at him with unamiable eyes.

While he saw this to some extent, he was unaccustomed to denial by others or by himself.  She was alluringly beautiful, as she stood before him,—­all the more valued because she valued herself so highly, all the more coveted because superior to the sordid motives upon which even he had counted as the chief allies in his suit.  In the intense longing of a self-indulgent nature he broke out, seizing her hand as he spoke:  “O Miss Marian, do not deny me.  I know I could make you happy.  I would give you everything.  Your slightest wish should be law.  I would be your slave.”

“I do not wish a slave,” she replied, freezingly, withdrawing her hand.  “I am content, as I told you; but were I compelled to make a choice it should be in favor of a man to whom I could look up, and whom I could aid in manly work.  I shall not make a choice until compelled to by my heart.”

“If your heart is still your own, give me a chance to win it,” resumed the suitor, seeking vainly to take her hand again.  “I am in my prime, and can do more than most men.  I will put my wealth at your disposal, engage in noble charities, patriotic—­”

This interview had been so absorbing as to make them oblivious of the fact that another visitor had been admitted to the hall.  Hearing voices in the drawing-room, Mr. Strahan entered, and now stood just behind Mr. Lanniere, with an expression in which dismay, amusement, and embarrassment were so comically blended that Marian, who first saw him, had to cover her face with her handkerchief to hide her sense of the ludicrous.

“Pardon me,” said the inopportune new-comer, “I—­I—­”

“Maledictions on you!” exclaimed the goaded millionnaire, now enraged beyond self-control, and confronting the young fellow with glaring, bloodshot eyes.