"For what I really would love to do," she said over her white shoulder, with her eyes on the strange young man, "you started me off a little too poor. I might have to borrow a hundred or two from you to begin with! I want to pioneer! I don't mean that I want to go into a wilderness and be a squatter. I want to reclaim some abandoned farm-make over some ugly house-make arid acres yield me money in my purse-money not given to me, left to me, nor found by me, but money that I, myself-Carolina Lee-have earned! Does that amuse you?"
"It interests me," said St. Quentin, quietly.
To be taken seriously was more than the girl expected. She was only telling him a half-truth, because she did not consider him privileged to hear the whole. She continued to test him.
"I never see an ugly house that I do not long to go at it, hammer and tongs, and make it pretty. Not expensive, you understand, – I've lived in Paris too long not to know how to get effects cheaply, – but attractive. Oh, Noel! The ugliness of rural America, when Nature has done so much!"
"You ought to have been a man," said St. Quentin.
"I would have been more of a success," said the girl, quickly. "I believe I could have started poor and become well-to-do."
"How you do emphasize beginning poor and how you never mention becoming rich! Don't millions appeal to you?"
"Not at all! nor do these common men, even though they did begin poor, who have acquired millions by speculation. They but make themselves and their sycophants ridiculous. No, I mean honest commerce-buying and selling real commodities at a fair profit-establishing new industries-developing situations-taking advantage of Nature's beginnings. Such thoughts as these are the only things in life which really thrill me."
"I understand you," said St. Quentin, "but I fear your wish will never come true. Years ago I held similar desires. All my plans fell through. I had too much money. And so have you. You'll have to go on being a millionairess, whether you will or no, and you'll marry another millionaire and eat and drink more than is good for you and lose your complexion and your waist line and end your life a dowager in black velvet and diamonds."
A messenger boy entered and handed a telegram to Sherman Lee, just as Melba rose from her straw pallet and led the glorious finale to "Faust."
Her brother leaned over and touched her arm.
"You may get your infernal wish sooner than you expected," he said, with a wry smile twisting his pale face.
Carolina turned to St. Quentin with indifference.
"Possibly I may yet keep my waist line," she said, as he laid her cloak on her shoulders.
On the way out she came face to face with the tall young man who had stood through the whole opera, in the balcony.
He gave back all her interest in him in the one look he cast upon her loveliness. A sudden light of incredulous surprise dilated her eyes and a swift blush stained her cheeks. She recognized, in some intangible, unknown way, that he possessed kindred traits with her father and with herself. He had the same look in his eyes-or rather back of them, as if his eyes were only a hint of what lay hid in his soul. He was of their temperament. He dreamed the same dreams. He was akin to her.
"I could have told him the truth," she whispered. "He would have understood that I meant Guildford all the time, and that the reason I want to be poor is so that I can show that I am willing to work, to carry out my father's dearest wish. Just to spend money on it is too sordid and too easy. I want it to be made hard for me, just to show them what I will do! He would have understood!"
But with one's best friends it is as well to be on the defensive, and not let them know our true aims, lest they take advantage of their friendship and treat our heart's dearest secrets with mockery.
CHAPTER IV
THE TURN OF THE WHEEL
A week later St. Quentin dropped in at Mrs. Lee's for a cup of tea. He would have preferred to have Carol brew it, for she had not only learned how in Russia, but had brought with her a brand of tea which, to St. Quentin's mind, was not to be ignored for mere conversation, and once drunk, was not to be forgotten. When Mrs. Lee was out, Carol dispensed this tea, but when Addie was in her own house, she was mistress of it in more ways than tea-drinking.
St. Quentin found several people there for whom he had little use, so he sat silent until they had gone and no one except Kate, Adelaide, and Carol were left.
Carol was wearing a pale blue velvet gown trimmed with sable and a picture hat with a long white ostrich plume which swept her shoulder. Both St. Quentin and Kate plied her with admiring comments until Addie could bear it no longer, and excused herself with unnatural abruptness.
"There are more ways than one of killing a cat," murmured St. Quentin, stooping for Kate's immense ermine muff, which she had dropped for the third time, "than by choking it to death with cream."
Kate laughed delightedly.
Carolina turned from the doorway.
"Don't go, either of you," she said. "I am only going for some tea. Noel, ring for some more hot water, will you?"
"I wonder how it would be," said Kate, dreamily, "to be born without any relations at all! Could one manage to be happy, do you think?"
"Carol couldn't. She is very fond of Sherman."
"I wouldn't be fond of any brother who had lost all his own fortune and mine and was millions in debt besides. One couldn't love a fool, you know."
"I know. But do you remember what Carol said about wanting to be poor?"
"Of course I remember!" said Kate, "but I d-didn't believe her then and I d-don't believe her now. Carol was s-simply lying-that's the answer to that!"
"Lying about what?" asked Carolina, reëntering, with a square box in her hand. The box was of old silver, heavily carved and set with turquoise.
"Lying about being g-glad Sherman has lost all your money. Of course you were lying, w-weren't you? No-nobody but a raving maniac could be glad to be p-poor."
"Then I am a raving maniac," said Carolina, pouring the delicately brewed tea carefully into the tall, slender glasses. "Lemon or rum, Kate?"
"W-which will I like best? I-I've had four cups already to-day."
"Then you'd better have rum. It makes you sleep when you have had too much tea."
"Lemon for me, please," said St. Quentin.
"I remembered that," said Carolina, smiling. "And three lumps."
"P-put in some m-more rum, Carol. I can't taste it."
"What a Philistine!" cried St. Quentin. "To insult such tea with rum."
"It's quite g-good," murmured Kate, with her glass to her lips. "When y-you have enough of it."
"So you really think I can't mean it when I tell you I am glad that Sherman has lost all our money?" said Carolina. "Of course I am sorry on Addie's account-she cares a great deal and is quite miserable over her future prospects. But she has ten thousand a year from her own estate, so she can still educate the children and get along in some degree of comfort. But as for me" – she leaned forward in her chair with the whimsical idea of testing their calibre kindling in her eyes-"if you will believe me and will not scoff, I will tell you what my plan is."
"Promise," said Kate, briefly.
"If Sherman can manage it, I want," said Carolina, slowly, but with an odd gleam in her eye, "to buy an abandoned farm in New England and raise chickens."
In spite of her promise, Kate looked at the beautiful face and figure of the girl in blue velvet and sables who said this, and burst into a shriek of laughter, which St. Quentin, after a moment's decorous struggle,