luncheon, too."

"I'll have to be at the--no, I won't, either. Do you know, I was
thinking I had to be at the bank at twelve-thirty to let Mr.
Perkins go out for something to eat? The millionaire habit isn't
so firmly fixed as I supposed." After a moment's pause, in which
his growing seriousness changed the atmosphere, he went on,
haltingly, uncertain of his position: "The nicest thing about
having all this money is that--that--we won't have to deny
ourselves anything after this." It did not sound very tactful, now
that it was out, and he was compelled to scrutinize rather
intently a familiar portrait in order to maintain an air of
careless assurance. She did not respond to this venture, but he
felt that she was looking directly into his sorely-tried brain.
"We'll do any amount of decorating about the house and--and you
know that furnace has been giving us a lot of trouble for two or
three years--" he was pouring out ruthlessly, when her hand fell
gently on his own and she stood straight and tall before him, an
odd look in her eyes.

"Don't--please don't go on, Monty," she said very gently but
without wavering. "I know what you mean. You are good and very
thoughtful, Monty, but you really must not."

"Why, what's mine is yours--" he began.

"I know you are generous, Monty, and I know you have a heart. You
want us to--to take some of your money,"--it was not easy to say
it, and as for Monty, he could only look at the floor. "We cannot,
Monty, dear,--you must never speak of it again. Mamma and I had a