"You are surprised that such sentiments should come from one who ought to be ignorant of every reality of life," she observed, coolly, as he paused. "But I learned something about those realities at a very early age. I know how the want of money has embittered my life; I know how it lays on me now fetters under which I chafe; and therefore, by right of the experience which you lack, I tell you that you will live to regret the loss of the fortune you are throwing away."
"No man can speak with absolute certainty of the future; but, if I know myself at all, I do not think I shall ever regret it."
She shrugged her shoulders slightly. "In that case you will be an extraordinary man," she said. "But I feel as if I should beg your pardon for having fallen into such a personal vein of discussion."
"I do not think that the responsibility rests with you," he answered. "But if you consider that you owe me an apology, I can point out an immediate way to make amends. Ever since you have been standing there, I have been longing to make a sketch of you. Will you allow me to do so?"
"Certainly," she said, smiling; for the request flattered her vanity.
So, while she stood in the sunshine and shadow, a charming picture of youth and grace, he sketched her, feeling with every stroke the true artist appreciation of her beauty; and more and more surprised at her intelligence as they talked of art and literature, of people and events, while time flew by unheeded.
Meanwhile Mr. Singleton was certainly wroth with his favorite. The latter's change of religion--or, to be more correct, his choice of religion--was the last of many offenses; and the old man said to himself that, so far as he was concerned, it should indeed be the last. "The boy is a fool, besides being obstinate and ungrateful!" he thought, with what he felt to be righteous indignation, and which (knowing his own weakness in regard to Earle) he strove to encourage and fan into enduring anger. "But I am glad I have discovered this in time--very glad! Though he has refused so positively to do anything that I wish, there is no telling what weakness I might have been guilty of when it came to the point of making my will. But now I am safe. My money shall never go into the hands of the Jesuits--that I am resolved upon. And, of course, they would soon obtain it from Brian, who has no appreciation whatever of its value. Yes, my mind is settled at last on that score. He shall never inherit anything from me; but where on earth am I to find a satisfactory legatee to take his place?"