"Well, what do you want?" quizzed Barton.

In a sullen, turgid sort of defiance the girl lifted her somber eyes
to his. "I want to stay home--like other people--and have a house,"
she wailed. "I want a house--and--the things that go with a house: a
cat, and the things that go with a cat; kittens, and the things that
go with kittens; saucers of cream, and the things that go with saucers
of cream; ice-chests, and--and--" Surprisingly into her languid,
sing-song tone broke a sudden note of passion. "Bah!" she snapped.
"Think of going all the way to India just to plunge your arms into the
spooky, foamy Ganges and 'make a wish'! 'What do you wish?' asks
Father, pleased-as a Chessy-puss. Humph! I wish it was the soap-suds
in my own wash-tub!--Or gallivanting down to British Guiana just to
smell the great blowsy water-lilies in the canals! I'd rather smell
burned crackers in my own cook stove!"

"But you'll surely have a house--some time," argued Barton with real
sympathy. Quite against all intention the girl's unexpected emotion
disturbed him a little. "Every girl gets a house--some time!" he
insisted resolutely.

"N--o, I don't--think so," mused Eve Edgarton judicially. "You see,"
she explained with soft, slow deliberation, "you see, Mr. Barton, only
people who live in houses know people who live in houses! If you're a
nomad you meet--only nomads! Campers mate just naturally with campers,
and ocean-travelers with ocean-travelers--and red-velvet
hotel-dwellers with red-velvet hotel-dwellers. Oh, of course, if
Mother had lived it might have been different," she added a trifle
more cheerfully. "For, of course, if Mother had lived I should have