"And you will marry on nothing?"
"I dare say we sha'n't starve," said Rivington optimistically.
"Ah!" Again that beast-like snarl. There was no green glare left in the
watching eyes--only red, leaping flame. "And--you like poverty?" asked
the Indian in the tone of one seeking information.
"I detest it," said Rivington, with unusual energy.
Dinghra drew a step nearer, noiselessly, like a cat. His lips began to
smile. He could not have been aware of the tigerish ferocity of his
eyes.
"I should like to make a bargain with you, Mr. Rivington," he said.
Rivington, his hands in his pockets, looked him over with a cool
appraising eye. He said nothing at all.
"This girl," said Dinghra, his voice suddenly very soft and persuasive,
"she is worth a good deal to you--doubtless?"
"Doubtless," said Rivington.
"She is worth--what?"
Rivington stared uncomprehendingly.
With a slight, contemptuous gesture the Indian proceeded to explain.
"She is worth a good deal to me too--more than you would think. Her
mother also desires a marriage between us. I am asking you, Mr.
Rivington, to give her up, and to--name your price."
"The devil you are!" said Rivington; but he said it without violence. He
still sat motionless, his hands in his pockets, surveying his visitor.
"I am rich," Dinghra said, still in those purring accents. "I am
prepared to make you a wealthy man for the rest of your life.
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