"It was only that I feel I--" "You feel that there could be a question of money between us ?" she interrupted.
"Not between _us_, Janet," he said eagerly; "but there is your--your mother." "I beg you," she replied coldly, "not to speak of mamma in that way to me, even if you have such unjust thoughts of her." Arthur looked at her uncertainly.

He had an instinct, deep down, that there was something wrong--something in her that he was not fathoming.
But in face of that cloud-dwelling beauty, he could only turn and look within himself.

"I beg your pardon, dear," he said.

"You know so little of the practical side of life.

You live so apart from it, so high above it, that I was afraid I'd be doing wrong by you if I did not put that side of it before you, too.