"Oh, you must love me very much!" she cried.
"There is no doubt of that, my dear!" her lover rejoined. "You don't
like that word 'disinherited,'" he added in a moment.
"It isn't the money; it is that he should--that he should feel so."
"I suppose it seems to you a kind of curse," said Morris. "It must
be very dismal. But don't you think," he went on presently, "that if
you were to try to be very clever, and to set rightly about it, you
might in the end conjure it away? Don't you think," he continued
further, in a tone of sympathetic speculation, "that a really clever
woman, in your place, might bring him round at last? Don't you
think?"
Here, suddenly, Morris was interrupted; these ingenious inquiries had
not reached Catherine's ears. The terrible word "disinheritance,"
with all its impressive moral reprobation, was still ringing there;
seemed indeed to gather force as it lingered. The mortal chill of
her situation struck more deeply into her child-like heart, and she
was overwhelmed by a feeling of loneliness and danger. But her
refuge was there, close to her, and she put out her hands to grasp
it. "Ah, Morris," she said, with a shudder, "I will marry you as
soon as you please." And she surrendered herself, leaning her head
on his shoulder.
"My dear good girl!" he exclaimed, looking down at his prize. And
then he looked up again, rather vaguely, with parted lips and lifted
eyebrows.
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