His eyes dropped, his teeth clenched, and the moment of silence hung
heavy in the room. She turned from him, her hand going to her brow with
a gesture of weariness and despair.
"Let us go," she said to her father. "He does not love me--he never
did. I thought that perhaps in time--in time--"
The sight of her humiliation was more than Stafford could bear. He
strode to her and laid his hand on hers.
"Wait--Maude," he said, hoarsely. "I must lay the title aside; I cannot
accept your father's money. I must work, as other and better men have
done, are doing. If you will wait until I have a home to offer you--"
She turned to him, her face glowing, her eyes flashing.
"I will go with you now, now--this moment, to poverty--to peril,
anywhere. Oh, Stafford, can't you see, can't you value the love I offer
you?"
When her father had led her away, Stafford sank into a chair and hid
his face in his hands. He was no longer free, the shackles were upon
him. And he was practically penniless. What should he do?
He got his pipe and felt in his pocket for his matches. As he did so he
came upon Mr. "Henery" Joffler's envelope. He looked at it vacantly for
a moment or two; then he laughed, a laugh that was not altogether one
of derision or amusement.