"I know you don't; but I want you to come to this one," said Sidney.
"You'll love old Mr. von Praag. And Richard, the son, is a dear! I
really want you."

"He's an artist, too, isn't he?" said Barry without enthusiasm.

"Who, Richard?" she asked, something in his manner putting her a
little at a loss. "Yes; and he's very clever, and so nice! He's like
a brother to me."

Barry did not answer, but after a moment he said, scowling a little,
and not looking up:

"A fellow like that has pretty smooth sailing. Rich, the son of a
big man, traveling all he wants to, studio in New York, clubs--"

"Oh, Richard has his troubles," Sidney said. "His wife is very
delicate, and they lost their little girl... Are you angry with me
about anything, Barry?" she broke off, puzzled and distressed, for
this unresponsive almost sullen manner was unlike anything she had
ever seen in him.

But a moment later he turned toward her with his familiar sunny
smile.

"Why didn't you say so before?" he said sheepishly.

"Say--?" she echoed bewilderedly. Then, with a sudden rush of
enlightenment, "Why, Barry, you're not JEALOUS?"