Pa. You would have your own rooms, and your own servant, and there
is a boat-house on the harbor front, where you could write your
novels."

At this, knowing none wanted my novels, I may have winced, for,
misreading my discontent, Farrell hastily interrupted.

"You won't have to work at all," he protested heartily. "My son can
afford to live like a lord. You'll get all the spending money you
want, and if you're fond of foreign parts, you can take the yacht
wherever you please!"

"The farther the better," exclaimed Mrs. Farrell with heat. "And
when you get it there, I hope you'll SINK it!"

"Maybe your friends would come and visit You," suggested Farrell,
I thought, a trifle wistfully. "There's bathing, tennis, eight...
bedrooms, billiard-room, art gallery----"

"You told him that!" said Mrs. Farrell.

I was greatly at a loss. Their offer was preposterous, but to them,
it was apparently a perfectly possible arrangement. Nor were they
acting on impulse. Mrs. Farrell had admitted that for six months
she had had me "trailed." How to say "No" and not give offense, I
found difficult. They were deeply in earnest and I could see that
Farrell, at least, was by instinct generous, human, and kind. It
was, in fact, a most generous offer. But how was I to tell them
tactfully I was not for sale, that I was not looking for
"ready-to-wear" parents, and that if I were in the market, they