"Peculiar." I nodded in the eyes as blue as a baby's. "But a person
who isn't peculiar isn't much of a person. You see, I don't care for
things which are already fixed for me. I like to do my own fixing.
And I don't want to live in anybody else's home, not even yours,
though you are dear to want me. I am grateful, but I prefer to live
here. My present income would make an undignified affair of life
among the friends of other days. I'd feel continually as if I were
overboard and holding on to a slippery plank. Down here I'm
independent. I have enough for my needs and something to give--.
That's a good-looking hat you have on. Did you get it in Paris?"

Kitty shook her head. "New York." Otherwise she ignored my
question. Hats usually interested her. She talked well concerning
them, but to-day she would not be diverted from more insistent
subjects.

"It must have cost a good deal to fix up this old house. Anywhere
else it would look very well." Her eyes were missing no detail.
"You'd make a pig-sty pretty, but it takes money--"

"Everything takes money. I sold two or three pieces of Aunt
Matilda's jewelry for enough to put the house in order. She expected
me to sell what I did not wish to keep. In her will was a note to
that effect."

"She had more jewelry than any human being I ever saw." Into Kitty's
face came dawning understanding. "It was the only way she could
leave you any of--"