To the gay young gallant, Berry’s anger only made her more charming. She had seemed too easy a prize before, for he had read her heart very quickly by the light of former experiences.
A millionaire senator’s only son, and not many years older than Berry, he looked upon this poor young girl who had fallen in love with him so easily as only legitimate game if he could win her heart.
Like a flash, it came to him with her bitter words that she could not be so lightly won, that she was proud and pure as she was fair.
The realization of this fact only made her more interesting. Now he swore to himself he would not relinquish the pursuit. There would be more zest in it thus.
So he only laughed at her entreaties to turn back, only laughed as the roses pelted his face and stung him with their thorns, only urged the bay to a greater speed, until Berry, her brief anger passed, suddenly crouched in her seat, sobbing forlornly, in woe and grief:
“Oh, why did I come? What made me so foolish? Hadn’t I always been told that rich young men had little use for poor girls, only to rob them of their happiness! Oh, Heaven, spare me from this wretch, and send me safely back to poor mamma!”
“Oh, come now, little darling, don’t be so foolish,” coaxed Charley Bonair. “Don’t you know I wouldn’t harm one hair of that pretty little head! Why, I only brought you out for a pleasant drive, and presently I’ll take you home safe to your mamma. Maybe I was rather mistaken in you at first, and thought you would be my little sweetheart for the asking. But I surely know better now, and I own I respect you more for it. Come, come, little girl, let us be friends again! Haven’t I been honest with you? Don’t I own my engagement to Rosalind, although ’pon honor, I almost like you better. But I couldn’t marry you, darling, even if I were free of Rosalind, for my proud, rich father and sisters would never forgive us the mésalliance; and my father would withdraw my allowance, and we should be poor as church mice; see?”
He had spoken gayly, but earnestly, and Berry, who had ceased her sobbing to listen to him, faltered, softly:
“If I loved any one very much I could be happy with him, even if we had not a cent in the world!”
The bashful avowal half sobered his gayety, and he exclaimed:
“Do you mean that for me, little one? That you could love me penniless, could marry me if the old dad cut me off with a shilling, and be happy with me on bread and cheese and kisses?”
“Yes, I could,” declared Berry ardently, forgetting in the passion of pure, first love all her ambitious dreams for the future. In a moment his arm slipped around her waist, and he drew her to him, crying recklessly:
“I’ll take you at your words, sweetheart; I’ll marry you to-morrow.”
“How dare you kiss me?” Berry cried, fighting him off with her weak, white hands. “Take your arm from my waist! You cannot deceive me with false vows. You are going to marry Rosalind Montague, who has your promise.”
“Bad promises are better broken than kept. I’ll marry you, my little darling, and tell Rosalind to find another husband!” Bonair answered, with another reckless laugh, still speeding his horse onward, though they were miles and miles away from home by this time, out in the open country, where houses were few and far between.
“I will not listen to your false promises. Oh, take me home, if you have the least regard for me! I did wrong to come, I know, but take me back before mamma misses me!” entreated Berry, clutching his arm with hysterical energy, tears raining down her pallid cheeks.
All at once she had lost faith in him, and his kisses had frightened her with their fervor, as she realized by the light of the words he had spoken the vast distance between their positions: he, the millionaire senator’s son; she, the daughter of the poor tailoress. No, no, he could never stoop to her, she could never drag him down—he was for Rosalind, his equal. As for her, life was over—she loved him so she could never love another, but she must die of her despair.
But Charley Bonair kept on laughing at her wild entreaties.
“Not yet—not yet!” he cried hilariously, while he urged the bay on, and still onward under the silvery moonlight. “Listen, Berry, I have a clever plan to humiliate Rosalind and cause her to break the engagement so that I may marry you: I shall take you back to the lawn fête, and dance with you there as my guest, with Rosalind and my haughty sisters. Oh, how angry they will be! If they order you to leave I shall defy them, and we will dance on and on, and Rosalind will be furious, vowing she will never speak to me again. How do you like my plan? Will you come with me back to the hall now?”
“Oh, never, never!” cried Berry, shrinking in horror from his sensational proposition, frightened, eager to escape.
“You shall!” laughed Bonair abruptly, turning his horse’s head to return.
“I will not!” she shrieked indignantly, and rose to her feet, reckless with despair. The next moment, to his horror, she sprang over the wheel, out into the rocky road, before he could lift a hand to prevent her.