The Green Mummy

“I am very angry,” pouted the maid.

“In heaven’s name, why?” questioned the bachelor.

“You have, so to speak, bought me.”

“Impossible: your price is prohibitive.”

“Indeed, when a thousand pounds — ”

“You are worth fifty and a hundred times as much.

Pooh!”

“That interjection doesn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t think it is one which needs answering,” said the young man lightly; “there are more important things to talk about than pounds, shillings, and sordid pence.”

“Oh, indeed!

Such as — ”

“Love, on a day such as this is.

Look at the sky, blue as your eyes; at the sunshine, golden as your hair.”

“Warm as your affection, you should say.”

“Affection!

So cold a word, when I love you.”

“To the extent of one thousand pounds.”

“Lucy, you are a — woman.

That money did not buy your love, but the consent of your step-father to our marriage.

Had I not humored his whim, he would have insisted upon your marrying Random.”

Lucy pouted again and in scorn.

“As if I ever would,” said she.

“Well, I don’t know.

Random is a soldier and a baronet; handsome and agreeable, with a certain amount of talent.

What objection can you find to such a match?”

“One insuperable objection; he isn’t you, Archie — darling.”

“H’m, the adjective appears to be an afterthought,” grumbled the bachelor; then, when she merely laughed teasingly after the manner of women, he added moodily:

“No, by Jove, Random isn’t me, by any manner of means.

I am but a poor artist without fame or position, struggling on three hundred a year for a grudging recognition.”

“Quite enough for one, you greedy creature.”

“And for two?” he inquired softly.

“More than enough.”

“Oh, nonsense, nonsense, nonsense!”

“What! when I am engaged to you?

Actions speak much louder than remarks, Mr. Archibald Hope.

I love you more than I do money.”

“Angel! angel!”

“You said that I was a woman just now.

What do, you mean?”