If Florence St. John had even been poor, he would have cared for her. He started in first by wanting the girl for her money; it ended by his wanting her for herself.
He caught the little hand in his that was carrying the beautiful bouquet of roses he had sent her, and held it tightly.
"Thank Heaven!" he said, "the time has come at last, my beautiful love, for which I have waited so long. Surely you know what I have to tell you, Florence!" he said, drawing back and looking at her.
"I haven't the least idea," declared the girl, in whom the spirit of coquetry was strong. "Really, I do not understand."
[89]
"There needs be no understanding, my beautiful love!" he cried. "None! I have come to tell you in words what I have already told you a hundred times in a hundred different ways—I love you with all my heart! I love you! I know no other words. There is none which can tell how dearly or how much all my heart, my soul, my life goes out in those few words—I love you !"
His voice died away in a whisper.
"I have a true and serious friendship for you, Mr. Ainsley," she answered, coyly; "but I—I have never thought of such a thing as love or marriage."
"Will you think of it now?" he answered, eagerly.
He loved her all the more for this sweet, womanly, modest hesitation.
She arose from the seat near the fountain where he had placed her.
"Well, let it rest in that way," she answered. "I'll refer the subject to mamma; but you are not to say one word of love to me, nor speak to her about the matter for at least two months."
"Florence, you are cruel," he cried, "to keep me so long in suspense. Tell me, at least, that if your mother favors my suit, I may hope that you are not indifferent to me "
But she would not answer him. Her heart beat high, the fever of love throbbed in her veins; but, like all well-bred young girls, she had been schooled by early training to make no sign of preference for any man at his first avowal of affection. As he led her from the conservatory, past the fountain, the fragrant water-lilies, past the green palms and the flowering orchids, he gave a terrible start.
In that moment there came to him the memory of Ida May. He was annoyed by the very thought of her in that hour, and he quickly put it from him.
When they returned to the ball-room, Florence was as sweet as ever; but neither by word or by sign did she betray any rememberance of the scene which had just occurred in the conservatory.
[90]
He left Florence and her mother at the door of their home an hour later, but he did not have the opportunity of holding the little white hand in his for one moment, or of holding even a word of conversation with her.
"Well," said Mrs. St. John, when she and her daughter found themselves alone for a moment, "I saw him take you to the conservatory. You were gone a long time. Did he propose?"
"Yes!" returned the girl, languidly.
"Yes!" echoed Mrs. St. John. "Why, how can you take it so calmly, my Florence? You accepted him, of course?"
"No," returned the girl, calmly. "I said that I would like to have two months to consider the matter before the subject was broached to you ."
"You are mad, Florence!" cried her mother. "A wealthy young man like that is not captured every day."
"We are not so poor, mamma, that I should make a god of wealth," said the girl.
"Oh, certainly not," said her mother; "but I have be sought after by some fortune-hunter."
"Florence," repeated Royal Ainsley, his face white as death, his teeth chattering, "order the servants not to answer the bell!"
But it was too late; the door had already swung back on its hinges. An instant later the servant appeared with a card.