"
"She is nineteen," said Swain.
"Her father is wealthy, I suppose?"
"Very wealthy."
"And her mother is dead?"
"Yes."
"Well," I began, and hesitated, fearing to wound him.
"I know what you are thinking," Swain burst in, "and I do not blame
you. You are thinking that she is a young, beautiful and wealthy girl,
while I am a poverty-stricken nonentity, without any profession, and
able to earn just enough to live on--perhaps I couldn't do even that,
if I had to buy my clothes! You are thinking that her father is right
to separate us, and that she ought to be protected from me. Isn't that
it?"
"Yes," I admitted, "something like that."
"And I answer, Mr. Lester, by saying that all that is true, that I am
not worthy of her, and that nobody knows it better than I do. There
are thousands of men who could offer her far more than I can, and who
would be eager to offer it. But when I asked her to marry me, I
thought myself the son of a wealthy man. When I found myself a
pauper, I wrote at once to release her. She replied that when she
wished her release, she would ask for it; that it wasn't my money she
was in love with.
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