"A little of each would do you good."
"You are a coward, sir," the woman flashed out, "to say things to me here that you would not have dared to utter when wealth, power, position, all were mine."
"No, dear lady, not a coward, but one who enjoys telling the truth, even if it bites and wounds. Will you sell that piece of stone to me?"
"Not for the wealth of Vanderbilt," she replied. "I'd rather give it to a pauper whom I respected, than to sell it to you for enough to buy the golden opinion of all men."
"Such a resolve shows delicate sensibility, artistic temperament, but a minimum of common sense. I saw your—" (here even he could go but little further) "I mean Mr. Nugent, a few days ago, and if you still possess your romantic attachment for him, his pinched cheeks and sunken eyes, would induce you to make some little sacrifice for him."
The interview was becoming beyond endurance to Ouida, when, fortunately, the subject of the latter part of Doane's talk—Horatio Nugent—entered the room. He had heard the editor's allusion to sacrifice.
"Who are you," he cried, "that dare talk to her of sacrifice for me? The world should weep for her. She has, upon the altar of her affection for me, sacrificed a glory, which before, no woman had ever achieved upon the American continent."
Doane laughed, and Nugent, growing desperate, crossed over toward him, with threatening attitude.
Ouida clung to him, begging him, for their mutual sake to be calm.
"Oh, don't restrain him," said Doane, provokingly, "he'll cool down bye and bye."
