some sort of diplomatic mission to Madrid, or Stockholm, or
somewhere, remember it perfectly."

"Colonel Burgoyne must have had money," said Mrs. White,
tentatively.

"Some, I think," Barry answered; "but it was her father who was
rich, of course--"

"Certainly!" approved Mrs. Apostleman, fanning herself majestically.
"Rich as Croesus; multi-millionaire."

"Heavens alive!" said Mrs. Lloyd unaffectedly.

"Yes," Willard White eyed the tip of a cigar thoughtfully, "yes, I
remember he worked his own patents; had his own factories. Paul
Frothingham must have left something in the neighborhood of--well,
two or three millions--"

"Two or three!" echoed Mrs. Apostleman in regal scorn. "Make it
eight!"

"Eight!" said Mrs. Brown faintly.

"Well, that would be about my estimate," Barry agreed.

"He was a big man, Frothingham," Dr. Brown said reflectively. "Well,
well, ladies, here's a chance for Santa Paloma to put her best foot
forward."