said she. "However, I'm going to do my best to repair it."

He reflected. "You must marry money," he declared, as if it were a
verdict.

"Either some one who's got it or some one who can get it."

"Some one who's got it, I'd advise."

"Bad advice," commented the girl, her hazel eyes gazing dreamily,
languorously into the distance. She looked a woman on romance
bent, a woman without a mercenary thought in her head. "Very bad
advice," she went on. "Men who've got money may lose it and be
unable to make any more. What a helpless thing YOU'D be but for
what you have inherited and will inherit. Yet you're above the
average of our sort."

"Humph!" said Arkwright, with an irritated laugh. Humor at his
expense was a severe strain upon him. It always is to those whose
sense of humor is keen; for they best appreciate the sting that
lies in the pleasantest jest.

"It would be wiser--if one dared be wise," pursued the girl, "to
marry a man who could get money. That kind of man is safest. Only
death or insanity can make him a disappointment."

Arkwright eyed her curiously. "What a good head you've got on you,
Rita," said he. "Like your grandmother."

The girl shivered slightly. "Don't SPEAK of her!" she exclaimed