He paused, overpowered by his own emotion, and hardly expecting an answer from Aimée. He could not see her face, for she had turned away from him, but he saw that she was trembling, and he was amazed by the clear steadiness of the voice in which she spoke after a moment.
“What a man could say with a fortune in his hand, he might surely--unless he thought more of money than of his own manhood--say without it.”
“May I?” he cried, almost incredulously. “You will let me say it--I, who had nothing yesterday, and will have nothing to-morrow!--you will let me tell you that I love you with all my heart?”
Another pause, and then--“If that be true,” said the sweet voice, “why should it matter that you had nothing yesterday or that you will have nothing to-morrow?”
“It matters,” he answered, “in the opinion of the world, which is quick to say of such a man--”
“But, a moment ago, I thought that it was my opinion alone which mattered,” she interposed.
“It _is_ yours--yours alone,” he replied. “And if you tell me that I may hope, the scorn of the whole world can not hold me back from striving to win you.”
She turned a beautiful, smiling face toward him. “It seems to me,” she said, “that a man who possesses or who has refused a fortune of a million or two can hardly fear that his disinterestedness could be questioned. But I”--her voice sank a little--“I do not think I should have needed the test.”
Mrs. Meredith, sitting quietly below in the loggia of Sansovino, grew rather tired of waiting before the two from above came down to seek her. She rose, and looked at them with a smile.
“Well,” she said, innocently, “have you settled the matter? Is the fortune to be given up, or retained?”
“The fortune!” said Kyrle. “I had forgotten it; but, of course, it is to be given up.”
“Ah!” said Mrs. Meredith. She looked at him curiously, this man who was capable of such wild quixotism, and said to herself that certainly things were better as they were. There was no danger that Mr. Meredith would ever be troubled by any scruples which would cause him to resign _his_ fortune. Then she shrugged her shoulders gently. “I suppose it is quite useless to argue with you,” she said, “but, at least, the fortune has done you a good turn, and I advise you to say nothing to any one else of your intention of resigning it. _Do_ the thing, if you like, when you return to America, but don’t talk of it now. It is yours until you choose to give it away, so pray take the great advantage it will give you.”