"That doesn't follow. You're pretty, attractive--"

"Oh, thanks. I know what I am. I'm an animated dollar mark, a
financial abnormity, with just about as much chance of being loved for
myself alone as a fox in November. When men used to propose to me I
halted them, pressed their hands, bade them be happy and wept a tear
or two for the thing that could not be. Now I fix them with a cold
appraising eye and let them stammer through to the end. I've learned
something. The possession of money may have its disadvantages, but it
sharpens one's wits amazingly."

"I'm afraid it sharpens them too much, my dear," said Mrs. Westfield
coldly. She looked around the room helplessly as if seeking in some
mute object tangible evidence of her niece's sanity.

"Oh, well," she finished. "I shall hope and pray for a miracle to bring
you to your senses." And then, "What have you planned for the spring?"

"I'm going to 'Wake-Robin; first. By next week my aerodrome will be
finished. My machine is promised by the end of May. They're sending a
perfectly reliable mechanician--"

"Reliable--in the air! Imagine it!"

"--and I'll be flying in a month."

The good lady rose and Hermia watched her with an expression in which
relief and guilt were strangely mingled. Her conscience always smote
her after one of her declarations of independence to her Aunt, whose
mildness and ineptitude in the unequal struggle always left the girl