me--you are for ever telling me--that marriage with you, who are
penniless, would be my ruin, and yet I would marry you. Is _that
_selfishness?"

"No; it is only folly," says she in a low, curious tone.

Maurice regards her curiously.

"Marian," says he quickly, impulsively, "there are other places. If
you would come abroad with me, I could carve out a fresh life for
us--I could work for you, live for you, endure all things for you.
Come! come!"

He holds out his hands to her.

"But why--why not wait?" exclaims she with deep agitation. "Your
uncle--he _cannot_ live for ever."

"I detest dead men's shoes," returns he coldly. Her last words have
chilled him to his heart's core. "And besides, my uncle has as good
a life as my own."

To this she makes no answer; her eyes are downbent. Rylton's face is
growing hard and cold.

"You refuse, then?" says he at last.

"I refuse nothing, but----" She breaks off. "Maurice," cries she
passionately, "why do you talk to me like this? What has changed
you? Your mother? Ah, I know it! She has set her heart on your