He don't think
it's right for him to marry you, and make you leave that big house,
and lose all that money. He don't care anything about it for himself,
but it's for you. Did you know that?"
Evelina grasped the old man's arm hard with her little fingers.
"You don't mean that--was why he did it!" she gasped.
"Yes, that was why."
Evelina drew away from him. She was ashamed to have Thomas's father
see the joy in her face. "Thank you, sir," she said. "I did not
understand. I--will write to him."
"Maybe my son will think I have done wrong coming betwixt him and his
idees of duty," said old Thomas Merriam, "but sometimes there's a
good deal lost for lack of a word, and I wanted you to have a fair
chance an' a fair say. It's been borne in upon me that women folks
don't always have it. Now you can do jest as you think best, but you
must remember one thing--riches ain't all. A little likin' for you
that's goin' to last, and keep honest and faithful to you as long as
you live, is worth more; an' it's worth more to women folks than 't
is to men, an' it's worth enough to them. My son's poorly. His mother
and I are worried about him. He don't eat nor sleep--walks his
chamber nights. His mother don't know what the matter is, but he let
on to me some time since."
"I'll write a letter to him," gasped Evelina again.
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