"What does it matter, my
dear Isabel, whether I knew? My father was very obstinate."
"So," said the girl, "you did know."
"Yes; he told me. We even talked it over a little."
"What did he do it for?" asked Isabel abruptly.
"Why, as a kind of compliment."
"A compliment on what?"
"On your so beautifully existing."
"He liked me too much," she presently declared.
"That's a way we all have."
"If I believed that I should be very unhappy. Fortunately I don't
believe it. I want to be treated with justice; I want nothing but
that."
"Very good. But you must remember that justice to a lovely being
is after all a florid sort of sentiment."
"I'm not a lovely being. How can you say that, at the very moment
when I'm asking such odious questions? I must seem to you delicate!"
"You seem to me troubled," said Ralph.
"I am troubled."
"About what?"
For a moment she answered nothing; then she broke out: "Do you think
it good for me suddenly to be made so rich? Henrietta doesn't."
"Oh, hang Henrietta!" said Ralph coarsely. "If you ask me I'm
delighted at it."
"Is that why your father did it- for your amusement?"
"I differ with Miss Stackpole," Ralph went on more gravely.
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