"Mr. Trevors wish _me_ to be his wife--that old man?" she
exclaimed, turning slightly pale. "It cannot be; let me read the
letter." And taking it from his hand, she stood beneath the
chandelier, and read it through, while Mr. Hastings scanned her
face to see if he could detect aught to verify his fears.
But there was nothing, and breathing more freely, he said, as she
returned to him the letter, "Sit down here, Dora, and tell me what
I shall say to him. But first consider well, Mr. Trevors is rich,
and if money can make you happy, you will be so as his wife."
Dora did not know why it was, but she could not endure to hear him
talk in such a calm, unconcerned manner of what was so revolting.
It grieved her, and laying her head upon the broad window seat,
she began to cry. Mr. Hastings did not this time say "Dora, my
child," for Louise had told him she was not a child, and he began
to think so, too. Drawing his chair nearer to her, and laying his
hand upon her hair, he said gently, "will you answer me?"
"Yes," she replied, somewhat bitterly.
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