worse. It has. I am afraid, where you are concerned, that it has
absolutely vanished. My dear, you'll recognize this as a proposal. I
thought my mind was made up, after forty, not to marry; and I
specially tried not to bring you into it. You were too young, I
felt. I doubted if I could make you happy, and did everything
possible, exhausted all the arguments, but it was no good.

"Linda, dear, I adore you."

She was glad, without the slightest answering emotion, that Arnaud,
well--liked her. At the same time all her wisdom declared that she
couldn't marry him; and, with the unsparing frankness of youth and
her individual detachment, she told him exactly why.

"I need a great deal of money," she proceeded, "because I am
frightfully extravagant. All I have is expensive; I hate cheap
things--even what satisfies most rich girls. Why, just my satin
slippers cost hundreds of dollars and I'll pay unlimited amounts for
a little fulling of lace or some rare flowers. You'd call it wicked,
but I can't help it--it's me.

"I've always intended to marry a man with a hundred thousand dollars
a year. Of course, that's a lot--do you hate me for telling you?--but
I wouldn't think of any one with less than fifty--"

Arnaud Hallet interrupted quietly, "I have that."

Linda gazed incredulously at his neglected shoes, the wrinkles of
his inconsiderable coat and unstudied scarf. She saw that, actually,
he had spoken apologetically of his possessions; and a stinging