"I will speak frankly to you, Paulina," he said. "I am too poor to
marry."
"Yes," she answered, bitterly; "I comprehend. You are too poor to marry
a penniless wife."
"And I am not likely to find a rich one. But, believe me, that my love
is none the less sincere because I shrink from asking you to ally
yourself to misery."
"So be it, Sir Reginald. I am willing to accept your love for what it
is--a wise and prudent affection--such as a man of the world may freely
indulge in without fear that his folly may cost him too dearly. You
will come to my house; I shall see you night after night amongst the
reckless idlers who gather round me; you will pay me compliments all
the year round, and bring me bon-bons on New Year's Day; and some day,
when I have grown old and haggard, you will all at once forget the fact
of our acquaintance, and I shall see you no more. Let it be so. It is
pleasant for a woman to fancy herself beloved, however false the fancy
may be. I will shut my eyes, and dream that you love me, Reginald."
And this was all. No more was ever said of love between these two; but
from that hour Reginald was more constant than ever in his attendance
on the beautiful widow. The time came when she grew weary of Paris, and
when those who had lost money began to shun the seductive delights of
her nightly receptions. Reginald Eversleigh was not slow to perceive
that the brilliant throng grew thin--the most distinguished guests
"conspicuous by their absence.
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