displays laid her open to the unjust suspicion of feigning
her habitual stupidity.

``Yes,'' said Presbury amiably. ``It's nothing like
yours was. He's so rich he doesn't know what to do
with his income. He owns mines scattered all over the
world. And if they all failed, he's got bundles of railway
stocks and bonds, and gilt-edged trust stocks, too.
And he's a comparatively young man--hardly fifty,
I should say. He pretends to be forty.''

``It's strange I never heard of him,'' said Mrs. Presbury.

``If you went to South America or South Africa or
Alaska, you'd hear of him,'' said Presbury. He laughed.
``And I guess you'd hear some pretty dreadful things.
When I knew him twenty-five years ago he had just
been arrested for forging my father's name to a check.
But he got out of that--and it's all past and gone.
Probably he hasn't committed any worse crimes than
have most of our big rich men. Bill's handicap has
been that he hadn't much education or any swell
relatives. But he's a genius at money-making.''
Presbury looked at Mildred with a grin. ``And he's just the
husband for Mildred. She can't afford to be too
particular. Somebody's got to support her. _I_ can't and
won't, and she can't support herself.''

``You'll go--won't you, Mildred?'' said her mother.
``He may not be so bad.''